


Somewhere in the Framework

by J (j_writes)



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Challenge: Bandom Big Bang, Future Fic, M/M, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-27
Updated: 2010-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_writes/pseuds/J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian had been back in the business for two months and four days when My Chem decided that their next tour would be their last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere in the Framework

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Aneli8, Mrsronweasley, and Harborshore for readthroughs and encouraging my flaily attempts to originally plot this out; to Etben for being my support in all things; and to my rockstar betas, Desfinado and Janet Carter, who made this infinitely better than it was the first time around. All remaining ridiculousness is my own. <3

Brian had been back in the business for two months and four days when My Chem decided that their next tour would be their last.

It was Ray who told him, sinking down next to Brian on the couch in the lounge, the road rattling beneath their feet. "Gerard's back there with Mikey," he said, nodding toward the bunks. "He's…it's been a long tour, this time."

"Yeah," Brian agreed. He'd only joined them halfway through, but there had been signs from the first day he'd gotten on the bus – Frank's manic energy after every show, the way Ray wore headphones when he played video games now, shutting them all out for a while, the way Gerard threw himself into his drawing like it was going to save his life. Even after being gone for too long, Brian knew his guys.

"We're taking a break when we get home," Ray said, which sounded redundant, since everyone already knew that, but then he continued. "Then one more tour, and we're done."

Brian felt his stomach drop. _I'm not_ , he wanted to say, but he just nodded.

"It's getting to be…work," Ray said. "Frank's sick all the time, and Gerard's stressed to the limit between this and his comics, and Mikey's got _kids_ now – Jesus, Brian, _Mikey_. He's supposed to be everyone's little brother, you know? And he has _kids_. Just, it's…" he sighed. "We can't do it forever." He fell silent for a long moment, and before Brian could come up with a satisfactory reply, he said quietly, "Christa's pregnant."

Brian's head jerked up, and Ray was looking back at him with this tiny smile that was just waiting for permission to burst into a dazzling grin.

"Goddamn, Toro," Brian said, and went to slap him on the back, but he ended up pulling him into a tight hug instead. "Congratulations, man. You're going to have one lucky kid."

Ray was faintly pink as he pulled back. "I know it's not a big thing, with Gerard and Mikey and Frank already – "

"Not a big thing?" Brian interrupted, and punched him in the arm. "It's your _kid_. It's _huge_. Do the guys know?"

"Just Gerard." He picked up an action figure from the windowsill, fiddling with it, looking pleased, then sobered a little. "Look, I know you just came back. I'm sorry the timing sucks."

"It does," Brian said honestly. "But that doesn't mean it's not right."

Ray nodded, then said, "We're not _breaking up_ , you know? It's not like that."

Brian laughed. "I know better than anyone, it's impossible to break up with this band. I've tried." He nudged Ray's shoulder with his own. "You just got old."

Ray snorted. "If we're old, what does that make you?"

"One foot in the grave, my friend. One foot in the grave."

"Nah, that's what you were when you were jumping out of planes," Ray says. "This job's a lot safer."

Brian looked around the bus. "You've _met_ your band, right? He asked. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"Hey, Mikey hasn't set anything on fire in _years_ ," Ray said.

"When that's something to be proud of…" Brian said, trailing off, and Ray laughed.

"Dude, you love us," he insisted, wrapping an arm around Brian's shoulders and pulling him close. Brian made a protesting noise, but ended up smiling with his face pressed against Ray's shirt.  
______________

"Cheer up, emo kid," Bob said in his ear, and Brian laughed, leaning towards him without turning. Frank was the only one who'd noticed Brian leaving backstage, and had just looked at him seriously for a minute, then turned away. Brian had found Bob in the back of the venue, lurking in the shadows, hood pulled up over his hair, and he'd let out a breath, feeling himself relax in a way he hadn't been able to in months.

"You came," he'd said, and Bob had nodded, looking between Brian and the stage.

"I couldn't not," he'd replied.

Now, Brian leaned beside him in the darkness and watched Ray playing, Gerard singing with every ounce of emotion in his body. "What are you going to do?" Bob asked, and Brian shivered a little. All this time, since Ray had told him, months of touring and time off and late nights sitting up together in hotel rooms, and no one had asked.

"You're doing this _now_?" he asked, turning to stretch up and speak directly in Bob's ear so he could hear him.

Bob shrugged against him. "Got a better time in mind?"

Brian watched Gerard's back hunching over his microphone, Ray's fingers on the strings. "I'm going to do this," he said.

"You're staying?" Bob asked him, sounding surprised.

"I'm staying," Brian confirmed. "It took leaving once to figure out that I'm not done yet. Maybe I'll never be." Bob nodded thoughtfully. "How's the sound business going?"

Bob shrugged. "Been talking to some people, doing some shows."

"Maybe we'll end up on the same tour sometime," Brian said, and Bob nodded.

"Maybe, yeah." He leaned against Brian's shoulder. "You're not going to drop off the planet this time, are you? Because I _will_ show up on your porch again."

Brian smiled, remembering the times he'd open his door to find Bob standing there with a bag resting at his feet, a tiny questioning smile on his face. "You better," he said, and then the lights were coming back up, and Bob was pulling away.

"I'm gonna - " he said, waving towards the exit, and Brian watched his face cloud over as he watched someone else settle in behind the kit that should have been his. For a brief moment, he looked older than Brian had ever seen him.

"Yeah," Brian agreed sympathetically, touching Bob's arm. "Don't you drop off the planet either, okay?" he asked. "I know where you live."

"Not if I go out on tour, you don't," Bob reminded him, but he nodded. "We'll talk," he said. He took Brian's shoulders, and turned him bodily so they were facing each other, looking at him seriously. The lights shifted, and he just looked like Bob again, the same Bob that he'd been on the first day they'd met. "Good luck, man," he said.

Brian nodded. "You too," he told him, and waited until Bob had disappeared out the door before he rejoined his band for the last time.  
______________

Brian was juggling a coffee, half a muffin, a briefcase full of contracts, and a conversation with a tour manager about the price of Cheetos in Nebraska - for a reason he couldn't quite fathom - when his phone beeped with a call that made him sigh deeply and roll his eyes before deciding that he probably had to take it. "Tony, I'll call you back," he said, and steeled himself before switching to the other line.

"Brian motherfucking Schechter," he heard as he answered, and briefly considered hanging up again. This was what he got for letting one of his bands sign to Decaydance.

"Pete motherfucking Wentz," he replied. "To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?"

"I can't just be calling to check up on the kids? See if they're growing any new teeth, or if Devon has mastered riding a bike without training wheels yet?"

Brian sighed. "The band's fine, Pete. What's up?"

"You never were any fun, you know that?" Pete said.

"You just say that because I wouldn't let you and Mikey hang out on the roof of the bus when he was trashed," Brian replied, shaking his head.

"Good times," Pete said with a nostalgic sigh, then switched tracks abruptly. "You know, your band called it quits to go have babies, and you had a baby band instead. I think you're doing it wrong."

"Just because you're the only one from _your_ band with kids," Brian said, making a face at his phone.

"Hey, the day that science figures out a way to get Mixon pregnant, you better believe Andy will be having, like, six."

Brian cringed. "Science can take its time."

"So, your band," Pete said.

"I have lots of bands."

"Yeah, but I don't care about any of them. I care about _our_ band. Our tiny geniuses that we're going to lift out of obscurity and turn into rock stars."

"Geniuses is a little bit of an overstatement, don't you think?" Brian asked. He liked the kids, and they had potential, but they were still raw, unpolished, and their sound was going to need a lot of work once they got into the studio.

"That can't be proud papa Schechter I hear, badmouthing his own offspring," Pete said, sounding affronted.

"I'm not badmouthing, I'm just – " he cut himself off, realizing that he was trying to justify himself to Pete Wentz, of all people.

"You're just never going to find another MCR," Pete said. "I get it, man. But, so, hey, the reason I'm calling is that Patrick was wondering if they've decided on a producer for the album yet."

Brian sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm…working on it?" he said tentatively. He'd been prodding them for weeks to come up with a name, and the three of them had gone back and forth so many times he was about to threaten to drop them from Riot Squad if they didn't get their acts together. "Does he have a recommendation?"

"Yeah," Pete said. "Himself."

Brian narrowly kept himself from dropping his phone, his briefcase, and his breakfast right in the middle of the sidewalk. "Patrick," he said, just to be clear.

"Patrick." Pete sounded gleeful at Brian's stunned tone. "Patrick motherfucking Stump, my friend. Wants to produce your kids. And if they say no, there will be no threatening, I _will_ drop them from Decaydance."

"They won't say no," Brian said.

"Who could, really?" Pete asked, and Brian breathed out a laugh, knowing he had that dreamy _I'm thinking about my band_ face on. It was a face he knew only too well.

"They'll do it," Brian told him. "I mean, I'll talk to them. But they'll do it."

"I believe in you, my man," Pete said. There was muffled noise on his end of the line, then he was saying distractedly, "I've gotta go. But call Patrick's people, set up a thing, okay?"

"Patrick has people," Brian said.

"Of course he does," Pete said, sounding proud. "He's somebody now."

"I think he'd be offended you didn't think he was before."

Pete laughed. "I'm the only one who always did," he said. "Call him, okay? Good luck with your kids."

"Good luck with yours," Brian said. He closed his phone and stood there on the sidewalk, still juggling a coffee, half a muffin, and a briefcase full of contracts as he dialed the band.  
______________

Patrick was sitting in the furthest booth from the door when Brian got to the coffee shop, slouched against the wall with his hat pulled down over his eyes. He was scribbling something down on a notepad, and looked no different from any of the college students studying around him. He looked up as Brian entered and nodded in greeting, pushing his headphones off to hang around his neck.

"Schechter," he said, standing as Brian joined him. He didn't quite shake his hand, but grabbed Brian's arm and pulled him in to bump against him companionably. Brian smiled, looking him over. Skinnier, more tired looking, but still the same guy he remembered from years before.

"Thought maybe success would have turned you into a suit," he said. "Glad to see you hung around Wentz too long to let that happen."

Patrick laughed and settled down into the booth. "You too," he said, nodding at Brian's fading t-shirt and new tattoos. "But seriously? This place is your coffee shop, man? Doesn't really seem your speed."

Brian pushed his cup across the table and looked pointedly at it until Patrick hesitantly took a sip. His eyes widened. "Oh," he said. "Oh, that's _good_."

"Get it now?" Brian asked, taking it back.

Patrick looked into his mug sadly. "I just got a regular."

Brian made a complicated hand gesture at the nearest barista, and a minute later, Patrick looked up, surprised, as a mug clinked down in front of him. "Thanks, man," Brian said, and paid, waving Patrick's money away. "It's the least I can do," he said. At Patrick's puzzled look, he clarified, "Pete told me this was your idea, taking this on. The band...they really appreciate it." _So do I,_ he didn't add. "Hear you've been doing good for yourself."

Patrick smiled. "Hear you've been....well, jumping out of planes, actually."

Brian grinned. "A little, yeah."

"How's that working out for you?" Patrick asked.

"Well, I'm back here," Brian said dryly, and Patrick made a small noise of amusement, or maybe understanding.

"Glad these kids are yours," he said. "Their demo is..." he seemed to be searching for the right words. "I think we can do good things with them," he finally decided on. "I think they can be something really great."

A good manager would say _they already are_. Brian just nodded and said, "Yeah, I think they can."  
______________

When Brian got to the studio, the band was huddled outside, Amy and Eric smoking nervously, Devon pacing in circles around them. Brian grinned at them and clapped Eric on the back. "You guys look like you're waiting for your prom dates," he told them. "And you're not really sure they're going to show up."

"Patrick _Stump_ , Brian," Devon said, pausing in his pacing. "Do you really think this is a good idea?"

"I think this is the _best_ idea," Brian said, steering Devon and Amy towards the door and taking the cigarette from Eric's fingers, stubbing it out.

He held the door for Eric, waiting until the three of them were gathered in a tight knot in front of the elevator before hitting the up button. "He's not all that intimidating," he told them. "The guy's practically pocket-sized."

"Says _you_ ," Devon said, looking down at him pointedly.

Brian shrugged. "You telling me you're intimidated by me?" he asked, smirking a little.

"No," Amy said quickly at the same time Eric said, "Yes."

Brian laughed. "I'm flattered," he said dryly. "Look," he said, "he's already told me he thinks your demo is great. You've got nothing to worry about."

"Except going in there and sounding like crap," Eric said, leaning back against the wall.

"We're talking about a guy who managed to make _Pete Wentz_ sound decent, okay?" Brian reminded them, ushering them all out of the elevator as the bell dinged and the doors opened. "I have a feeling he's not going to have too hard a time with you. As a bonus, everyone in this band can actually _play_."

"That's harsh, man," Eric said. Brian raised an eyebrow at him. "Bassist solidarity," he explained. "I'd fistbump someone, but I'm the only bassist in the elevator."

Patrick had his computer propped up next to the boards when Brian pushed the door open, and was working intently on it, headphones over his ears. Brian cleared his throat a few times, and watched the band shifting uncomfortably beside him. He nodded reassuringly at them, then nudged the back of Patrick's chair with his foot. Patrick started and sat up, whirling around.

"Sorry," he said, pulling the headphones off and standing. "Schechter," he said, gripping Brian's arm. "Hey." He turned to Devon, who stood closest, and stuck out his hand. "I'm Patrick."

Devon shook it, looking like he was trying very hard not to say _I know_ , so Brian jumped in with "This is Devon, he does vocals and guitar," and waited for Patrick to turn to Amy before introducing her as the drummer. "Which makes you Eric," Patrick said, reaching for his hand and sizing him up. "You know how to write one hell of a song."

Eric went pink and mumbled his thanks, while Brian exchanged a grin with Amy.

Patrick returned to his seat and glanced sidelong at Brian. "So," he said, tipping back in his chair. He waved a hand at the studio in front of them and turned to the band. "Show me what you've got."  
_______________

It was slow work, hard work, and Brian went home exhausted at the end of every night. He spent most of his days on the phone, on his computer, managing things from across the country, and on the third day, Patrick sat down next to him and asked, "What are you doing here?"

Brian glanced up, frowning, but Patrick was looking at him with such honest curiosity that he didn't even feel the need to get defensive. "They wanted me here," he said with a shrug. He watched them, Devon hunched over his guitar, Eric reaching out to demonstrate something, Amy fiddling with her kit. "I have a company for a reason. I can be here, and things still get done."

Patrick nodded thoughtfully, reaching over Brian for his water bottle. "These are your guys, aren't they?" Brian made a questioning sound, and Patrick waved a hand at him. "I mean, I know they're all your bands, but this one – they're Your Guys."

"I don't know," Brian said, shrugging. "Sometimes I think I already found the only band I'm ever going to have. But then these kids…they'll do something, or say something, and I'll realize that I couldn't possibly be more wrong, you know?"

"Yeah," Patrick said softly, then "Yeah," again, his voice stronger. "I'm in the middle of making a new album," he continued, which didn't seem to follow logically, but Brian looked up at him and waited for him to finish. "I miss my band so hard sometimes I think I'm never going to be able to write another thing again. But then something will happen, and I'll sit down, and it'll just _come out_. Like I'm not even writing it. Like it's already existing out there and I'm just…putting it down into notes. And it's never going to be like it used to: sitting in hotel rooms with a guitar and a notebook full of scribbles. I know that. But it _works_ like this. It works, and I _like_ it. More than I think I should, sometimes." He paused, then shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "Anyway," he said. "Just wait til the first time you see these guys on national tv, or hold their album in your hands, or watch them playing to a crowd that's singing their words back at them. I've seen you watch them, Schechter. They're your guys."

Brian smiled a little, watching Devon launch into a dramatic rendition of a song he didn't recognize. "I want them to be," he finally said.

Patrick looked briefly surprised at his honesty, then nodded. "They are," he said. "They will be." He crossed the room again, and Brian watched him lean against the wall behind Amy, gesturing at her drums, her eyebrows knitting together in concentration as she listened. Brian sat and watched them work, and later, when Patrick came to sit next to him again, Brian continued like there had never been a pause in the conversation.

"I think they will be," he said, "and if they are, it's going to be mostly because of what you're doing here."

Patrick took a moment to catch up with him, then his cheeks went faintly pink. "I'm not doing anything," he said. "I'm just helping them see what they can do."

"Exactly," Brian told him, and nudged Patrick's leg companionably with his own. "You're making them into my guys," he said, and Patrick didn't seem to have an answer for that, but he looked pleased as he settled his headphones over his ears and turned to the controls.  
______________

Brian would lead the band out of the studio at the end of the night, and by the end of the first week, he started to notice how exhausted Patrick would seem as they left, still bent over the boards, his hat drooping, looking like he was going to fall asleep right there on the console.

On Saturday, he watched the kids pack up and pretended to be engrossed in his work until they had gathered everything, and he waved at them distractedly on the way out the door. He kept working diligently, only pausing when the buzzer rang and Patrick looked up, startled, pushing off his headphones. He shot Brian a suspicious look, then got up and went to get the door. He came back with his arms full of Chinese food, already paid for, and he piled it unceremoniously on a table, looking at Brian over it.

"You didn't have to," he said, but Brian saw the way his eyes lit up as he peeked into one of the cartons.

"I was hungry," Brian said with a shrug, and moved past Patrick to start opening boxes, scooping things out onto a plate. They ate in companionable quiet until Patrick started talking about the bass line for the song with the handclaps that he was working on with Eric. That led into a discussion of some of the songs he used to write, which turned into an exploration of songwriting, which inevitably led to Pete, and soon enough, they were telling increasingly ridiculous stories about their time in studios, catching each other up on what their bands and their techs and their old friends were up to, trying to outdo each other with half-remembered wacky band shenanigans. It was halfway through Patrick telling this story about Pete and Gabe and a deep fryer that Brian realized that for the first time in a long time, he could relax enough to just enjoy himself.

Everything had been going badly for so long - since My Chem ended, since before that, even - that he had mostly forgotten it could be like this, just a couple of guys and a studio and their war stories. He leaned back in his chair, smiling up at the ceiling, listening to Patrick's voice.

"Do you miss it?" he asked when they had fallen quiet again, and Patrick didn't hesitate for a second before answering.

"Every day," he said.

"Me too," Brian told him, and he didn't look up, because he didn't want to know if Patrick was giving him a sidelong glance, wondering what he meant. His job title might still be the same, but it was the only thing that hadn't changed.

Patrick got it, though, Brian could tell by the way he didn't respond, just pushed the pile of fortune cookies towards him. "Lemon-flavored future?" he offered, and Brian smiled, shook his head.

"I'd rather not know," he said. He watched as Patrick cracked a package open and read his fortune, then chewed thoughtfully at his cookie. "That's not going to come true," he told him.

"Hm?" Patrick looked up at him over the slip of paper.

"My wife would always tell me that, that the fortune only comes true if you eat the cookie first."

Patrick looked at the fortune again. "That's okay, it's not a very good one anyway, I'd rather it not." He crumpled it up and tossed it into an empty container. "Wife, man," he said, shaking his head. "I still kind of can't believe that."

Brian smiled ruefully. "They happen to some people," he said.

Patrick smiled. "Yeah, so I hear." He frowned suddenly. "I heard right, didn't I? I mean, you're not still..." he waved a hand vaguely.

Brian held up his naked left hand. "I'm not still," he confirmed.

"I'm sorry," Patrick said, sounding like he meant it. "That's got to be rough."

"It was, a little, yeah," Brian said. "But it was the right decision."

"Mistake?" Patrick asked sympathetically, poking through a carton with his chopsticks.

"Not a mistake," Brian corrected him. "Never. It just…didn't work out, is all. Sometimes things don't."

"No," Patrick agreed. "Sometimes they don't."

They lapsed into silence and Brian picked up his own chopsticks, grabbing a piece of pepper from Patrick's carton. Patrick smiled at him a little hesitantly and Brian offered, "I have that movie Devon was talking about before, the one you wanted to see."

Patrick was apparently a guy who had been hanging around Pete Wentz for long enough that he had learned how to take a hint to change the subject. "You don't have to," he said. "If you'd rather just go home..." he trailed off and shrugged. "It's not your job to keep me entertained."

Brian looked at him. "If I leave right now, how much do you want to bet me that you're just going to go back to work?"

Patrick ducked his head. "Not really your problem," he said.

"I'm a manager," Brian reminded him. "Everything's my problem." He clicked Patrick's computer shut, and cleaned up the empty cartons while Patrick packed his things.

He smiled at Brian as he met him at the door. "I don't know how you ever thought you could do something else with yourself," he said. "You were kind of born to herd around people in the music industry."

"Shepherd to the stars, that's me," Brian agreed with a laugh, and Patrick _baa_ 'd at him as Brian ushered him into the hallway.

_______________

It went like that. It was easy and weirdly uncomplicated, which was a change and a relief for a couple of guys who had never been involved in anything _but_ complications. They'd stay late in the studio, talking and working. Sometimes Patrick would mess around with the band's instruments, playing old stuff, new stuff, songs that he'd never played in front of anyone else, and Brian would sit there and read Rolling Stone and make comments that were almost never helpful, but often amusing. As Brian found himself trying to justify to Worm when he'd call and find Brian still in the studio, Patrick singing quietly in the background, it wasn't a thing, but it wasn't quite _not_ one either.

The night that Patrick dropped to his knees in front of Brian's chair, Brian found himself caught halfway between surprise and relief that _finally, yes._

Patrick's fingers didn't hesitate against Brian's belt, but his eyes held Brian's, waiting for him to take his hands and push them away. Brian didn't. He sat, still and waiting, and then when Patrick had a hand around his cock – fingers soft and callused and just the right amount of friction against Brian's skin - he reached down and touched Patrick's jaw, tipping his head up, looking at him under the brim of Patrick's hat. He thought that maybe he was taking it too far, maybe this wasn't what Patrick wanted, but he leaned down and kissed him anyway, because Patrick's lips were full and parted in the dim light, and he couldn't seem to make himself do anything else.

Patrick kissed like he was starved for it, like he had forgotten how much he liked it, and when he pulled away and ducked down to wrap his lips around Brian's cock, he did that in exactly the same way. Brian's hips jerked up, just once, just a reflex, and then he held himself steady as Patrick sucked him, hot and wet and with the same impeccable rhythm he used for everything else. It was embarrassingly quick, and Brian curled his fingers into Patrick's hair as he came, tucking them up under the hat, holding on until he came down, his breathing evening out.

Patrick had a hand down his pants by the time Brian opened his eyes, and Brian said, "Hey, don't, what - " and was kind of startled when Patrick stopped abruptly, looked up at him like he thought maybe he had done something wrong.

"Sorry?" he ventured, and Brian pushed the chair back, sank to his knees beside Patrick, and replaced his hand with his own.

"No, I just meant...I want..." he said, and got to watch the way Patrick's mouth twisted up and let out an amazing broken sound as he came.

It was awkward, afterward, the way they had to fumble around to get their pants done up, the way Patrick brushed this kiss against the side of Brian's face as he headed to his car when they were leaving, like he wasn't quite sure he was allowed to kiss him for real. But the next morning, Brian arrived with coffee for Patrick, and Patrick gave him exasperated looks over Devon's head, and the next night, when Brian pushed Patrick up against the wall after they had shut off the studio lights, Patrick didn't hesitate at all before leaning in and kissing him, hard enough that the hat fell right off his head.  
______________

Patrick and Eric were arguing when Brian kicked the door open, a box of pizza balancing on one arm.

"But the part, in the bridge, I just want to - " Eric was saying, and Patrick cut him off by shutting down the lights, leaving the room lit only dimly, the way it always was after the kids had left and Patrick and Brian were alone. It felt more homey that way, Patrick fiddling with the sound boards, Brian on his computer, both of them content and quiet and working.

"Tomorrow," Patrick said. "Go back to your place and work on it, if you want, but I'm shutting you down for the night."

Eric sighed, ducking out of his bass strap. "Are you sure we can't just - " he said, and Patrick shook his head.

"Look," he said, "you guys have been in LA for three weeks. Have you seen anything but the inside of this studio?"

Eric shrugged. "Not really?"

"My job is to get a good record out of you, which I can't do if you're burned out. Go be," he waved a hand, "young people in LA, I don't know."

Brian laughed, setting the pizza down. "Young people. What are you, like eighty years old?"

"He's wearing argyle," Eric said. "Signs point to yes." He eyed the pizza. " _You_ guys are staying here," he said accusingly.

"That's because we actually are eighty," Brian told him. "Also we're not going to do any work," he said pointedly in Patrick's direction. Patrick ducked his head and looked a little guilty. "Seriously," Brian said, turning to Eric. "Take Devon and Amy, go have fun somewhere, and come in late tomorrow, okay? We have to get this thing finished, and you might not get many more nights off. Enjoy this one."

Eric hesitated in the doorway, then sighed and shrugged. "Yeah, okay," he said, and was typing away on his phone as Brian shut the door behind him.

"You really just manage to sign the geekiest bands in the world, don't you?" Patrick asked.

"Oh, like that wasn't you, too, spending Friday night bent over your instrument."

Patrick smirked. "Bent over my instrument, huh?" he asked, and Brian bumped his shoulder, making a face. "And yeah, it probably would have been, if I didn't have Pete."

"Point," Brian conceded. He opened the pizza, and they devoured it, quiet in their enjoyment of their food. "They're okay, right, though?" Brian asked eventually, looking at Patrick. "I mean, they're not _actually_ burning themselves out, are they?" He looked down at his pizza. "You'd think that'd be something I'd notice, being their manager."

Patrick kicked him under the table. "They're fine," he said. "They're doing great, and it's going to be an amazing album. Just, you know. Eric reminds me a lot of Toro sometimes...you've got to give him a good hard poke to keep him from spending all his time buried in his work."

"Yeah, I don't know anyone else like that," Brian said dryly, and kicked him back.

Patrick laughed, stretching against his chair. "Hey," he said, " _I'm_ not the one who had to _quit_ for a few years." Brian winced. "Sorry, man," Patrick said quickly. "I didn't mean - "

"Nah, you're right," Brian said, waving a hand. "I _did_ burn out, and I needed some time, and it sucked. But then I needed to come back."

"These guys are lucky that you did," Patrick said. "You're awesome at what you do. Those kids..." he waved a hand at the empty studio. "You're great with them."

Brian shrugged. "I like them. They're..." he smiled a little. "I think you're making them grow on me."

"Hey, you're the one who found them," Patrick said. "I'm just doing some fine-tuning."

Brian grinned. "I think you're kind of Eric's hero," he said. "Devon's too, a little."

Patrick looked mock upset. "Not Amy?"

"Amy's got a list as long as her arm of drummers she wants to be like. You're probably on there somewhere."

Patrick looked pleased as he finished off his food. They settled in with their computers after that, and a while later Patrick got up, stretched, and headed towards the sound board. "Hey," Brian said warningly, and Patrick paused.

"I'm just going to - " he said, and Brian shook his head.

"No working," Brian told him. "Night off, remember?"

"Oh, says _you_ ," said Patrick. "I know exactly what you're up to, over there."

Brian shut his screen. "Not anymore, I'm not," he said, and looked at Patrick challengingly.

Patrick looked at his watch. "I'm counting the seconds before you open it again," he said.

"Keep counting," Brian told him, and was up and crossing the room, backing Patrick towards the couch and pushing him down there, not lightly.

"Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight," Patrick said against Brian's mouth, and then he was kissing him back, quiet but for the small noise he made in the back of his throat as Brian knelt with a knee between his legs, rocking against him. "Okay, yeah, this," Patrick said, his hands coming up to grab Brian's hips, hang onto him, grind against him as Brian leaned down to kiss him some more.

When he pulled back, Patrick was squirming under him, reaching for Brian's pants, and Brian ducked away, saying, "Wait, just, I want - " and he went to his knees, pushing Patrick's legs apart.

"Jesus," Patrick breathed, looking down at him, and he picked his hips up to help Brian get his pants undone. He reached out and touched the corner of Brian's mouth. "You don't have to..." he said, and then trailed off as Brian leaned in, wrapping a hand around him and sucking lightly at the head of his cock, swirling his tongue around it. "Okay, yeah, but you can. You know. If you want."

Brian pulled off and smirked up at him. "I want," he said, and ducked back down to take Patrick in his mouth again.

They'd gotten each other off enough now that it was familiar, the sounds that Patrick made, the way his hips moved, but it was more intense like this, tasting him, feeling the rough slide of his cock into Brian's mouth, his fingers tangling into the short hair at the base of Brian's neck, more forceful than he'd have expected, and _so_ much hotter. Patrick let his hips come up off the couch, thrusting into Brian's mouth, and Brian let him, relaxing, curling his other arm up to grab Patrick's hip, hold onto him as Patrick's movements got more erratic, and then he was pulling at Brian's hair, saying, "I can't, I have to, I'm -" and coming into his mouth.

Brian wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and Patrick laughed, his face red. "Hot," he said, then lost the expression when Brian pressed a hand to his cock through his pants, letting his head drop to Patrick's lap. "Hey," Patrick said quietly, "hey, that's my job," and then he was sliding down next to Brian, settling behind him and wrapping an arm around him, replacing Brian's hand with his own. He couldn't turn to see him, but he could feel him pressed up all along his back, warm and solid and still breathing heavily against Brian's ear. He jerked him steadily for a while, then leaned in to bite Brian's neck, his ear, his shoulder, and whispered, "Sometime - _next_ time - I want you to fuck me," and Brian didn't hold out for more than another minute before he was coming all over himself and Patrick's hand.

"Jesus _fuck_ , Stump," he said when he could form words again, turning and shoving Patrick back against the couch a little.

"Didn't see you complaining," he said, grinning, then shrugged. "I do want that, though."

"Well, you know," Brian said, "we _did_ tell the kids to come in late tomorrow."

"True," Patrick agreed. "Do you think they actually will?"

"Probably not. But you're the producer, they can damn well wait for you."

"That's not really - " Patrick began, but Brian cut him off.

"Patrick. I want to fuck you in my bed when we wake up tomorrow morning," he said in the voice he used for his bands sometimes, the one no one could manage to say no to very effectively.

Patrick shivered a little against him. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, okay."

The cab ride lasted for seven years, Patrick tipping his head back to watch the lights go by outside the back window, and Brian couldn't take his eyes off him, wanting nothing more than to push him into the seat and press his mouth to the curve of his neck. Once through the door, they were in bed within about thirty seconds, Patrick down to an undershirt and boxers. Brian took some time to watch him as he was settling his glasses onto the bedside table, shifting around and getting comfortable against the pillows. Even though they had been getting each other off in the studio pretty regularly, it was the most naked he had ever seen him all at once, and he took a while to look at Patrick's pale skin before remembering that he could reach out and touch. He did, sliding a hand up Patrick's arm, over his shoulders, down his chest to his stomach, pushing up the shirt and touching his hips.

Patrick's eyes closed briefly, and he said, "I don't think -" before Brian was leaning in to kiss him, pressing up against him under the blankets in the dark.

"No," he said, "me neither, I just…" and kissed him some more, touching Patrick everywhere he could reach him, feeling Patrick's hands mapping over his own body, pausing over his tattoos, tracing their lines, some from memory, some from the dim light coming in around the doorframe.

They fell asleep like that eventually, in stages, wrapped up together and occasionally trading lazy kisses for a while before dozing off again. When Brian woke in the morning, Patrick was half sprawled on top of him, breathing hot against the side of his neck, face burrowed into the space between Brian and the pillow. He lay there awake for a long time, his fingers brushing lazy patterns over the soft skin of Patrick's side where his shirt had ridden up in the night, and when Patrick woke, it was first with a sleepy snuffle of complaint, reaching down to scratch at where Brian's hands were. Their fingers got tangled, and Patrick made a confused noise before opening his eyes, then smiling in a totally unguarded way at Brian.

"Hey," he said, slow and contented, and reached up to rub his eyes.

"Morning," Brian said, and Patrick's eyes focused a little better.

"Mmmm," he agreed, "yeah. 't's morning." He yawned and stretched, rolling onto his stomach. "I seem to remember that I was promised something this morning." He blinked hazily. "You don't happen to remember what it was, do you?"

"Hmm," Brian said. "Coffee?"

"Maybe," Patrick said, "but I think it was something better than that."

"Lies," Brian told him. "Nothing's better than coffee in the morning."

"Nothing?" Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," Brian said. "Almost nothing." He reached out to touch Patrick's back, rolling his shirt up, rubbing circles into the skin, and Patrick made a lazy noise into the pillow. "I mean," he added, "unless you're too tired. I guess I _could_ just get you some coffee."

Patrick laughed and rolled his hips slowly against the bed. He was already hard, Brian could feel it against him as Patrick was waking up, and he watched the way Patrick's eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of the sheets sliding over his cock. "After," Patrick told him, "coffee's for after," and his cheeks turned pink as he said, "now I want you to fuck me."

Brian's breath caught a little, and he said "Yeah. Yeah, okay," and pressed against Patrick's back as he reached over him to the drawer in the bedside table. He stayed there longer than he needed to, grinding down a little against him, pressing his cock to Patrick's ass through their boxers, and Patrick's fingers were tangled into the sheets when he pulled back.

"Now would be good," he said, his voice a little choked, and he tilted his hips up to help Brian get him out of his boxers. Brian knelt up and took his own off, and then he was settling in behind Patrick, slicking his hands, wrapping one around himself and reaching for Patrick with the other. He fingered him slowly, watching the way that Patrick rubbed himself against the sheets, his back curving, face pressed into the pillows. He moved almost teasingly, making it last, feeling Patrick tight and hot around his fingers, his cock feeling impossibly hard at just the thought of feeling that against it, until eventually Patrick was saying "Now, fuck, Schechter, just," and reaching back, grabbing for Brian's hip and missing, just grasping at the air helplessly.

It was one of the hottest things that had ever happened to him, that tiny moment of desperation, of Patrick wanting him inside of him so badly he couldn't even stand it, and he breathed out "Okay, yeah, I'm - " and knelt up, bracing himself on the bed, and guided himself slowly into Patrick. He tried to give himself a moment to adjust, but Patrick let out this strangled noise and thrust his hips back towards him, sharp and fast and so dizzying that Brian had to slap his other hand to the bed as well to keep from falling over. "Jesus," he said, "Patrick, just," and he wanted to say _wait_ , or _give me a second_ , but Patrick was rolling his hips back, fucking himself onto Brian's cock, his head dropping forward, a flush spreading over the back of his neck, and there was only so much a guy could take. "Here," Brian said, and put a hand on Patrick's hip. "I'm going to - " and that was all the warning he gave before pulling back, then sinking into Patrick hard and deep.

Patrick was swearing, muffled in the pillows, and Brian was setting the rhythm with his hand on Patrick's hip, leaning down and pressing himself to Patrick's back. When Patrick made this brief movement with his hand downward, Brian leaned towards his ear, saying "Yes, that, please." Patrick barely got his hand under him before he was coming, tightening around Brian, his other hand bracing himself against the bed.

Brian pressed his face to Patrick's back and breathed, fucking him slowly for a while, letting him come back down, and then Patrick was moving again, pressing against him, rocking his hips back, and it was too fucking much, Brian couldn't hold back. He wrapped an arm around Patrick's waist and fucked him until he felt like he was falling apart, shaking and coming inside of him.

Brian fell over after that, sprawling out on the bed, both of them breathless and Brian still shaking a little. Patrick laughed at him. "Seriously, man, eighty fucking years old," and rolled over, pulling his boxers back on. "Come show me how to work your coffeemaker," he said, throwing Brian's boxers at his face.

Brian tossed an arm over his eyes. "It's a fucking coffeemaker, I think you can figure it out yourself," he said, but he pulled on the shorts and followed Patrick into the kitchen.  
______________

It wasn't until Patrick stepped in from the booth and cut him off with a sharp "Brian!" that Brian realized he was yelling at Amy. Actively yelling, gesturing emphatically at her drums, and when he snapped his mouth shut, he could see Eric's outraged scowl reflected in the picture behind her. "Shit," he said, scrubbing at his face with his hand. "I'm sorry, Amy." She kept the same impassive expression on her face, then turned to Patrick expectantly.

"One more runthrough," he said. "And if it doesn't work, we're going to move on and come back to it tomorrow." He looked at Brian pointedly until he sighed and left the room, heading back to the booth. He slammed a hand against the intercom, shutting it off, watching Patrick talk to the band without any sound.

"You should take the day off tomorrow," Patrick told him when he came back to join him.

"Banishing me to my room like an unruly child?"

"Well, maybe if you stopped acting like one..." Patrick suggested.

"I'm _fine_ ," Brian insisted.

"Tell that to Amy," Patrick said. "You can do that either before or after you apologize, preferably the kind of apology that involves gifts, monetary compensation, and reassurances that she's a damn good drummer and the band is lucky to have her."

That made Brian pause. "I never said she wasn't."

"You sure implied it."

"I wasn't talking about _her_ , I was saying - " he stopped. "Oh."

"Yeah," Patrick agreed.

"I'm kind of a dick."

"Kind of, yeah."

"I should..." Brian said, and started for the door, but was stopped by Patrick planting a hand on his chest.

"No, you shouldn't. They're going to play, and then I'm sending them home. You're going to stay in here. You can talk to them tomorrow."

"If I'm not fired by then. Whatever happened to 'never go to bed angry'?"

"It's crap. Anyway, I'm not entirely convinced you're not going to get a guitar to the face if you go out there right now. Now ssh." Patrick pressed a hand over Brian's mouth. He leaned forward to hit the button on the microphone. "Ready when you are."

They sat quietly through the song, which didn't sound any better. "No," Patrick said, holding up a finger before Brian could even open his mouth. "Sit. Stay. Good manager." He pressed the intercom button. "Let's call it a day. Eric, I've got some thoughts about the chorus..." he waved at the door and headed into the hallway to meet them once they'd packed up their things. Brian stayed in the booth, checking his email mutinously, feeling utterly defeated.

"It's just," he said when the door opened and Patrick came back, "they're _better_ than this."

"And they're having an off day," Patrick said distractedly, and went to his knees in front of Brian.

Brian blinked at him. "What?" he managed.

"It's a blowjob, Brian, maybe you're familiar with the concept?" Patrick informed him, and then his hands were at Brian's pants, undoing them, dragging them down just far enough to lean forward and take Brian's cock in his mouth. Brian cursed, his hips sliding forward on the couch, and Patrick's hands clamped to his thighs, not gentle at all, holding him as he ducked down and sucked him in hard.

His mouth was hot and tight around Brian's cock, and Brian let his head drop back against the couch cushions, closing his eyes and rolling his hips up against Patrick's face, not even trying to hold back, bracing his feet on the floor. Patrick pulled off to the head of his cock and let out a low noise of approval, and then lowered himself down again, reducing everything to the feeling of heat and soft pressure until Brian was shaking, holding onto him, saying, "I'm just, I have to," and coming down Patrick's throat.

Patrick swallowed around him, then pulled back just enough to keep his lips around the head of Brian's cock, He teased him, making him jerk and shudder and gasp out " _Fuck_ , Patrick." Patrick peeked up at him from under his hat and twisted his tongue one last tormenting time over him before pulling off and grinning. "You know, possibly the way to get me to be less of a dick is not to _reward_ me for it," Brian told him, stretching against the couch.

Patrick looked at him with a raised eyebrow for a moment, then smirked. "It's funny that you think this is a reward, and not just a way to wear you out," he said. He swept his eyes over Brian's body. "It's also funny that you think this is anywhere close to over."

Brian opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but then Patrick was reaching up, grabbing the waistband of his pants and dragging them down. "I don't..." Brian said uncertainly, and Patrick ignored him as he stripped Brian's pants off, leaving him half naked sprawled there against the couch. Brian shivered, half from the cool air against his skin, and half from the sharp intensity of Patrick's expression as he reached for his bag without getting up, dragging it towards him and fishing into one of the pockets.

"So I'm going to do something," he said conversationally, and then he was reaching up, touching Brian's face. "Close your eyes."

Brian blinked at him. "I don't - " he said, craning his neck to try to see Patrick's other hand, "what...?"

Patrick looked up at him seriously, then stretched up on his knees to press their mouths together. "Trust me, okay?" he said, and while Brian's eyes were closed as they kissed, he felt fabric draping around his face.

"Oh," he said, opening his eyes against the darkness, and Patrick pulled back, hovering close to him, his fingers securing a knot behind Brian's head.

"Is this...?" Patrick asked.

"You carry _blindfolds_ around in your bag?" Brian asked incredulously.

Patrick let out a laugh, his breath ghosting over Brian's neck. "I carry _ties_ in my bag," he corrected him. "Because _some_ of us are professionals who might get called on to be classy every once in a while."

"Classy," Brian said. "Right. You."

Patrick tugged lightly on the back of the tie, pulling Brian's head back just enough to stretch his neck, and he could practically feel Patrick considering it before he leaned in and pressed his mouth to the skin there, biting and sucking, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough that Brian shivered violently as Patrick settled against the couch between his legs.

"Now, here's the thing," Patrick said, pulling away, and Brian could hear him shuffling through the bag again. "You're worn out, you're frustrated, and you're frankly kind of an asshole, and you're not going to give yourself a break, because you're Brian motherfucking Schechter, and you don't need breaks like the rest of us mortals." One of his hands settled against Brian's thigh and pushed it, making his legs fall open. Brian drew in a breath. "So I'm going to do it for you," Patrick said, and Brian could hear him take a few steadying breaths before a finger pressed lightly against him, cool and slick, not pressing in, just teasing.

"So you don't carry blindfolds, but you have _lube_ on hand when you need it?" Brian asked, letting out an unsteady laugh. "If your answer is 'some of us are sex gods who might get called on to get laid every once in a while,' I'm going to kick you."

He could feel the movement of Patrick's shrug through his hand. "I've been getting laid pretty regularly lately," he said, like it was something that Brian might not know. "I figured it couldn't hurt to be ready for that." Brian's breath stuttered out unevenly as Patrick stroked his finger lazily over him. "And I don't hear any complaints," he added. "Just mockery, and that doesn't count." Brian held his breath and tipped his hips a little, stretching toward Patrick. He could hear the smirk on Patrick's face as he said, "What's that? Do I sense an end to the mocking?"

"Never," Brian said, his voice rough and catching in his throat.

Patrick chuckled, then pressed his finger in, like Brian had earned it or something. He twisted it slowly, and Brian shifted against the couch, tipping his head back, closing his eyes behind the blindfold. He lost himself in the feeling of Patrick working him from the inside, draining the tension from his body, making him wish more than anything in the world that he was a teenager again so he could get hard, feel Patrick's other hand around him as this one curled inside of him. He lost track of everything as he sprawled out there, Patrick adding another finger, making Brian writhe under his touch, leaning in every so often to kiss and bite at exposed areas of Brian's skin until Brian felt like every inch of him was about to combust, taking the couch and the studio and the whole fucking city with him.

"Jesus, Patrick," he finally gasped out, "just _fuck_ me."

Patrick stilled, and for a moment Brian thought he'd said the wrong thing, that he'd broken whatever moment was happening between them, but then the tie was pulled off of his face, light flooding in painfully, making him clamp his eyes shut as Patrick drew his fingers out of him. "Finally, goddamn, Schechter," he said. He tossed Brian's pants at him, then stood and stretched, heading for the bathroom. "Not here," he said. "Put your clothes on. I'm going to fuck you into your bed so you sleep for a _week_."

Brian stared after him. "Are you fucking _kidding_ me?" he demanded.

He listened to the water running, and then Patrick stuck his head out to peek at him. "The sooner you get those pants on, the sooner you get fucked," he reminded him.

The ride home was like the slowest and most drawn out form of torture imaginable. Patrick kept himself carefully tucked against his door of the cab, not touching Brian, but looking over at him every so often, letting his eyes trail over Brian's body, lingering at his pants, his lips. They were barely through the door before Brian was on him, pushing him up against the wall and kissing him until Patrick grabbed his wrists, held them down.

"That's not how this is supposed to work," Patrick informed him.

"Fuck supposed to," Brian practically growled.

Patrick grinned. "I'd rather fuck you."

It was slow and deep and hard, and so fucking intense that Brian's whole body was shaking under Patrick's in seconds, and didn't stop as Patrick pushed into him with the steady forceful rhythm that Brian had come to associate with drummers. Patrick tangled their fingers together against the sheets, bracing himself against Brian's hands, and Brian pushed back into him, wanting more, harder, anything. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been fucked, but he could remember the last time it was like _this_ , and that time was _never_. He didn't get hard again, but by the end, each thrust Patrick made was sending flashes bursting against his eyelids, and he couldn't even breathe as Patrick gasped out, "I'm - " He just held Patrick's hands tighter, and pushed his hips back against him, and held on as Patrick came with sharp stuttered jerks of his hips, letting out these broken sounds that only highlighted how hard Brian had fucked his throat earlier.

They lay shaking against each other on top of the covers for a long time afterwards, Patrick's arm draped heavily over Brian's chest, and it was Brian who eventually got them under the covers, then looked mournfully across the room at the alarm clock. "I didn't..." he said, and waved at it. Patrick blinked hazily at him, unfocused without his glasses, and Brian couldn't help but smile at his exhausted face.

"Good," Patrick told him. "Sleeping for a week, seriously," and he wrapped his arms around Brian so he couldn't get up to turn on the alarm even if he wanted to.

It turned out, he decided as he closed his eyes and let sleep wash over him, that he didn't really want to at all.  
_______________

Brian was on the phone with one of his tour managers when the doorbell rang, and he was distracted as he opened the door, coffee in hand, phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder.

"Heard you might be in the market for a sound guy," Bob said, and the coffee slipped out of his fingers, tumbling to the floor and splashing all over their shoes.

"Tony, I've gotta call you back," Brian said, and flipped his phone shut. "What the _fuck_ , Bryar?" he said, grabbing a sweatshirt from the coatrack and kneeling to mop up the coffee.

"What the fuck yourself," Bob replied. "Is throwing your coffee at someone a customary L.A. greeting? Is it something I can pick up, or is it an acquired skill?"

"Fuck _you_ ," Brian said, throwing the shirt at Bob's feet and watching him lean over to pat them dry. "A little warning, maybe? A 'hey, I'm gonna be in town'?"

"Hey," Bob said, straightening up again. "I'm gonna be in town."

Brian looked at him for a long moment, then laughed and pulled Bob in to hug him. He pushed him off unceremoniously, then backed into the hallway, waiting for Bob to follow. "How long are you around for?" he asked.

Bob shrugged. "I wasn't kidding, actually. I heard your guys are getting a tour together, and I'm here to offer my services. I heard their album. They've got...something. They're good."

"You've heard them?" Brian asked, surprised.

"They're one of the worst kept secrets of the business these days," Bob told him. "There are already rumors that the tour schedule's being released this week." He paused. "Also, Worm sent it to me."

"Of course he did," Brian said dryly. He frowned as he led Bob into the kitchen. "There are _rumors_?" he asked incredulously. "How did I not know this?"

"Guess you're not a very good manager after all," Bob said. "Hire me, and you'll get more awesome by proximity."

Brian laughed, pouring Bob a mug of coffee and handing it over. "You don't have any better offers?" he asked. "You have to whore yourself out to a band on their first tour?"

"I've got offers," Bob said. "But no. No better ones."

Brian shook his head. "You're a crazy person," he decided.

Bob nodded. "I am," he agreed. "But you knew that."

"It's why I'm going to hire you. Sanity has no place on my tour."

"It's really your tour, isn't it? The headliners are yours too, aren't they?"

"Yeah." Brian grimaced.

Bob laughed. "That says it all, right there."

"They're a nightmare," Brian said. "It's only a matter of time before they fire me, and I honestly can't wait. Until they do, I'm going to use their unlikely success as much as I can to get these guys out there."

"Tell me how you _really_ feel, Schechter."

Brian grinned. "Have I sold you on the tour yet?" he asked. "Still want that job?"

"Trying to make your shitty band sound good? Sounds like a challenge. I like challenges."

"What are you going to do until we leave? Bum around my spare room for a month?"

"You don't have to put me up," Bob said, but he looked relieved. "I've got a friend with a bar, he's going to have me do some shows while I'm in town."

"Guest room's yours," Brian said, waving at it. "Don't expect me to be very entertaining. Or even to be around much. I've got a mountain of shit to deal with before the tour leaves."

"You're going." Bob looked mildly surprised.

"They're my guys," Brian said with a lopsided smile. "I'm going."

Bob looked at him seriously over his mug for a moment or two, then smiled. "You found a band," he said, sounding pleased.

"You sound like Patrick," Brian told him, but he didn't argue, he just stood there and watched Bob grinning knowingly across the kitchen at him, and he couldn't help but smile back.  
______________

There were lights flickering over the living room walls when Brian's cab pulled up, and when he got inside, Bob was perched at the edge of the couch, intent on a video game. "You're home late," he remarked.

"Yeah, _dad_ ," Brian said, and Bob made a face at him, shooting off a few virtual rounds, throwing a virtual grenade, and then pressing pause with a satisfied look on his face. "And you didn't come home from the bar last night," Brian reminded him. "You didn't see me commenting on that."

"You are now," Bob pointed out. "You know, he can come over here sometimes."

Brian started. "What? Who?"

Bob raised an eyebrow. "Patrick," he said. "Me being here doesn't mean he can't ever come over. I can be out, or in my room, or we could all hang out sometimes. You don't always have to go over there. I haven't seen him in years."

"How did - " Brian began, then cut himself off. "It's not a thing," he said defensively instead.

Bob gave him an expressionless look he had to have learned from Mikey. "I don't _care_ what it is," he said. "Or isn't. I'm just saying, I don't take up _that_ much space."

Brian pushed off the wall he was leaning on. "I liked it better when we weren't talking about this," he said. "Let's do that some more."

Bob shrugged. "Sure," he agreed easily. He held out the game controller. "Bet you can't beat this score."

Brian sighed. "Has touring with me for so long taught you _nothing_ about my video game skills?"

"It taught me a _lot_ ," Bob corrected him, grinning. "That's the point."

"I don't like you very much," Brian informed him, but he flopped down onto the couch beside Bob and held out a hand for the remote.

"Yeah, that's why you're letting me stay with you," Bob said. "Look, for that, I'll offer you best two out of three."

"You're on." Brian leaned forward and focused intently on the game, instead of on the way that Bob was sitting there watching him with an openly considering look on his face.  
______________

Patrick didn't ask, not really, it was just that one night, Brian was stretched out on the bed next to him, telling him this story about Bob and the stray cat that had adopted Brian as his own, and Patrick got this kind of distant smile on his face and just said, "Bob."

Brian tilted to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah," he agreed. "Bob, that's who I was talking about."

"No, I mean," Patrick waved a hand at him in a way that he clearly thought was expressive. " _Bob_."

The disconcerting part was, Brian knew exactly what he was trying to get at. "We're doing this?" he asked warily, already taking stock of where his shoes were, how many things he'd taken out of his bag, and exactly how long it was going to take him to gather everything and get out the door.

Patrick looked at him steadily for a minute, then shrugged. "We're not doing anything," he said. "Just, you know. Bob." He shrugged, then waved again, making Brian wonder if there was a whole sign language thing going on in the studio that had gone right over his head for all this time, because Patrick and Devon were starting to communicate in exactly the same ways.

He said something to that effect, and Patrick laughed. "Clearly your kids are a terrible influence on me," he said.

"What was I ever thinking, introducing you guys?" Brian asked.

"You were thinking that you wanted to get them a damn good producer," Patrick suggested. "...and then realized that all the damn good producers were booked up, so you got me instead."

"It's all Wentz's fault," Brian sighed.

"Everything is," Patrick said dryly.

Brian made a face. "You know, on the list of things I want Pete Wentz to be responsible for, I've gotta say, me getting laid is not one of them."

Patrick wrinkled his nose. "Point," he agreed.

Brian curled onto his side to look at him. He hesitated a moment before saying, "Really?"

"Really what?" Patrick gave him a sidelong glance.

"You never..." he made a complicated gesture and watched the way Patrick's face went attractively flushed.

"As much as Pete likes to make out with dudes, he's really _really_ not into dick." Patrick frowned at him. "You can't tell me you were never on the receiving end of this information from Mikey."

Brian shrugged. "I thought if anyone was his exception, it'd be you."

" _Mikey_ was his exception," Patrick said, sounding tired. "And you know how well _that_ turned out."

Brian flinched. "I probably should have been more on top of that," he admitted. "It was a bad idea, right from the beginning, and I could have - "

"What? Not allowed it?" Patrick asked. "They were both grown dudes, Brian. There wasn't anything you could do. Telling them it was a bad idea would have just made them _more_ determined. Anyway, you were..." a tiny smile started lurking at the corners of Patrick's mouth, "a little distracted that summer, if I remember right?"

It was Brian's turn to feel his face heat up. "That's what this is about."

"There's no _this_ ," Patrick insisted. "Just, you know. I get that you and Bob have..." he paused. "A history. Is all I'm saying."

"You're the one who lived with him," Brian reminded him.

"Yet another thing we can thank Pete for," Patrick said ruefully, and Brian smiled.

"The guy's kind of inescapable, isn't he?" he asked.

"You have _no_ idea," Patrick said with feeling. He made a face. "See, here we are, lying in bed, talking about him. That's just...unfortunate."

Brian laughed. "Is nothing sacred?" he demanded, making Patrick laugh with him, and the conversation moved on, but when Brian got home the next afternoon, he watched Bob sleeping on the couch as he poked around the apartment, putting his things away. "A history," he repeated to himself, and laughed a little under his breath.

"One of these days," Brian said, storming through the door and slamming his bag onto the table. "I am going to punch that douchebag in the _face_ , and it is going to be the greatest thing that has ever happened."

Bob looked up mildly from in front of the stove. "Give me some warning so I'm around to bail you out," he said. He sobered, then, asking, "What happened?"

"What ever happens?" Brian asked. "Jack is a dick who doesn't understand that there is _business_ involved in the music business, not just an excuse to drag your stoner friends across the country with you for two months. I swear to god, if I could fire their asses and bump the other band up to headline, I'd do it in a second."

"That'd never fly," Bob said. "You'd have to find a replacement. You'd never sell tickets otherwise."

Brian glared at him. "I am not looking for you to be practical," he said, "I am looking for you to be sympathetic."

"Oh," Bob said. "Sorry. I'm...making you food?" he offered.

"A step in the right direction," Brian conceded. He paced around the kitchen while Bob cooked, restless and jittery, getting out dishes and putting them away again, taking things that Bob still needed and rinsing them off, pouring a glass of water for himself and overfilling it so it spilled all over the table.

"Stop," Bob said finally as Brian went at the mess with paper towels, his hands shaking. Bob took them and held them still, dragging Brian away from the table to the center of the room, where he couldn't touch anything. "Just. Stop." His voice was forceful, calming, willing him into quiet, and Brian just stood there, looking around for something to occupy his hands, keep his mind off his rage. "Whatever happened," Bob said, "It's not this big a deal."

"It's not one thing," Brian told him, "it's a million."

"It always is," Bob said.

Something about that made Brian pause, because this was _Bob_ , who had been there through so many worse problems than this, rational and steady and willing to kick in the collective face of the universe if it screwed with the people he cared about. "Fuck," Brian breathed out, and sagged a little, feeling Bob's fingers slide up his arms and tighten there. "You're right. Of course you're right."

"I always am."

"It's not that bad, it's just - " Brian let out a frustrated noise. "I'm supposed to know how to make things _work_. If I can't do that, what the fuck am I doing here?"

Bob opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he was going to say was cut off as Brian grabbed his collar and dragged him in, pushing him back against the counter and claiming his lips, hard and biting and achingly familiar. Bob hesitated before wrapping his hands around Brian's hips, but then he was kissing back, hungry and desperate like he was trying to make up for all the years since they'd done this last. When Brian finally pulled back to gasp for breath, Bob's eyes fluttered open, wide and stunned.

"Is this - " he managed to choke out, "Jesus, Brian, can we - "

Brian thought about Patrick, about the tone of his voice as he'd said Bob's name that one time, and he cut Bob off by pressing their mouths back together, grinding up against Bob, shoving him against the counter. "Yeah," he gasped out against Bob's mouth. "Fuck yes, it's okay, just...let me..." he closed his eyes as Bob pulled him closer and felt the tension draining from his body as he pressed it against Bob's, their dinner sizzling forgotten beside them.  
______________

He could hear laughing from out in the hallway when he got home, and he stood there for a minute, wondering if maybe Bob wanted the apartment to himself, but then he paused, recognizing the tone of that laugh, and he pushed the door open. "Patrick?" he asked as he peered around the doorframe.

Patrick's head poked into the hallway from the living room, and he grinned. "I was getting coffee with Amy," he said.

"I know," Brian reminded him. "I set that up."

Patrick blinked. "Right," he agreed. "You did."

"We ran into Bob!" Amy called from the living room, and Bob said something quiet that made her laugh.

"And he...decided to keep you?" Brian asked, setting his bag onto the hall table and going to meet Patrick in the doorway.

"You can't come in!" Amy said quickly from her spot in the armchair. There was a mountain of takeout Mexican all over the coffee table, and she was peering intently at him over the nearly-overflowing brim of a margarita. "You're not a drummer."

"I'm not..." Brian repeated. "You guys started a _drummer club_?" He shook his head. "Just when I think I couldn't possibly surround myself with bigger geeks..." He eyed Amy. "Are you even old enough for that?" he asked, gesturing at the margarita and glancing at Bob over her head.

She stared at him impassively. "I'm _twenty-four_ ," she told him. "And even if I wasn't, what are you, my _dad_?"

"I feel like it sometimes," Brian said grumpily, and Patrick elbowed him in the side. He waved his hands. "Fine, fine, have your fun," he said. He eyed their food. "As long as you share," he added.

Amy made a considering face, then gestured magnanimously at the containers. "Come and eat your fill," she said grandly, "and then begone with you!"

Bob snorted, and Patrick was smirking as he settled back down onto the couch next to Bob. Brian glanced around the room as he filled up a plate. The TV was off, Patrick's computer was clicked firmly shut, and there were music magazines scattered around them. "You guys really _are_ just geeking out over drumming, aren't you?" he asked, grinning around the room at them.

"Among other things," said Patrick.

"We're being educational," Bob said without a hint of humor, but his eyes crinkled up a little when Brian looked over at him.

"I've got you two trying to educate my band in the ways of being musicians?" Brian asked. "God help the future of the music industry."

"Can we banish him now?" Amy asked Patrick.

"You heard the lady," Patrick told him. "Begone with you!"

Brian was stretched out on his bed with his computer in his lap later that night when a soft tap came at his door. He padded to it in his boxers and t-shirt, expecting Bob, but it was Patrick standing there, shuffling from foot to foot. Brian backed up to let him in, then closed the door behind them.

"I'm sorry if we kind of invaded your living room," Patrick said. "You know Amy wanted to meet to talk about some new stuff they're working on, and then..." he shrugged. "We were getting coffee, and Bob came in, and...I haven't seen him, you know? It's been..." he considered. "Too long," he finally settled on. "But I'm sorry if we were kind of..."

"Imperialistic?" Brian suggested. "Claiming my land in the name of drummers everywhere?"

Patrick laughed a little, looking relieved. "It was okay, then?"

"Of course it was okay. Bob _lives_ here. He's welcome to have people over whenever he wants, as much as he never believes me when I tell him that. And you..." he shrugged. "You can be here whenever you want. For whatever reason."

Patrick looked pleased at that, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to Brian's mouth, quick and impulsive and over too quickly. "Couldn't do that in front of Amy," he said as he pulled back.

"No," Brian agreed. "There are things my band doesn't need to know about me, and the fact that I'm sleeping with their producer is one of them."

"It's like you think they don't know that already," Patrick said, smiling a little.

Brian blinked. "What?"

"Well, they don't _know_ ," Patrick corrected himself. "I mean, there's a difference between knowing and _knowing_. But they're not...entirely without suspicion, I'll say."

"Amy say something?" Brian asked warily.

"Eric," Patrick corrected him.

"You're kidding?"

"Kid's got a _sensitive soul_ or some shit," Patrick said, grinning. "Comes with being the songwriter, I guess."

"That why you did all the writing for your band?" Brian asked.

Patrick laughed. "Fuck no," he said. "That was Pete's arena. I was in it for the music, not the...catharsis or whatever."

"So you think Eric's more of a Pete."

"Keep an eye on the internet for potential scandals, is all I'm saying," Patrick said, grinning, then sobered. "Nah, it's just that Eric writes because he _feels_ things. And most of the time that's great, and it comes out amazing, and some of the time, it's...it needs polishing, is all," he said. "And that's what I'm here for, and where about 90% of the things that really had to be worked on in the studio came from. I was talking with Amy about it a little today." He looked sidelong at Brian like he was debating whether to continue, then did, all in a rush. "I want to put a claim in for the second album. If there _is_ a second album. If...if everything goes well, and the tour's not a disaster, and they get back in the studio...I want them. If they still want me. The new stuff we were talking about today...it's going to be amazing. And I want in."

Brian laughed. "It's like you think you're going to be able to get rid of them if you _try_ ," he said. "You're like that guy, with the geese. These kids are going to follow you around until you're _sick_ of them, and then they're going to stay until you get conned into liking them again by overexposure."

Patrick let out a small laugh, but he looked pleased. "You think so?" he asked.

"I know these kids," Brian said. "And more to the point, I know _bands_." He grinned. "Congratulations," he said. "You've got yourself a whole new little side project."

Patrick sat down abruptly on the bed. "Oh," he said. " _Shit_."

"Funny how that happens when you're not looking, isn't it?" Brian asked. He settled down next to him. "It's okay," he said, settling a hand onto Patrick's shoulder. "It happens to the best of us. Take a minute."

"I have a _band_ ," Patrick said, frowning. "I didn't _mean_ to have a band." He looked accusingly at Brian. "This is entirely your fault," he decided.

"I think you can blame Wentz for this one," Brian reminded him. "And anyway, I had _nothing_ to do with this. It was _your_ idea to take on the album in the first place."

"If you hadn't signed them to Decaydance, none of this would've happened."

"Well, if you weren't so fucking talented, Pete wouldn't have had the backing to get Decaydance off the ground in the first place."

"That is a low blow, man."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

Patrick sat silently for a few moments, staring at the wall. "I'm getting too old for this shit," he said. "My next album's coming out soon. I'm going to tour off of that, and I'm going to produce people, and I'm going to make money and do my job, and I did not in _any_ way factor in having a _baby band_." He frowned, turning to Brian. "Oh my god," he said.

"What?"

" _We_ have a band, Brian."

Brian blinked at him. "That sounds like one hell of a commitment," he said. "Bigger than getting a dog, even."

"I'm not very good at that," Patrick admitted.

"Dogs?" Brian asked. "Don't worry, I'm not big on them either."

Patrick made a face at him, and Brian leaned in to press his mouth to Patrick's throat. "I'm serious," Patrick objected.

"Me too," Brian said. "I'm serious a lot of the time, at least. About my job, anyway, and if I thought you were in any way the wrong guy to take them on, I never would have showed up for that meeting the first day, and I certainly never would have introduced you to them. The fact that you've kind of claimed them as your own just proves that my impeccable instincts remain untarnished."

Patrick rolled his eyes, but he let Brian push him back onto the bed and lean over him, kissing him back for a while, lazy and comfortable. "Should I...?" he asked when they finally pulled apart, and waved at the door.

"Not unless you feel like missing out on some pretty amazing sex."

"I don't know if there'll be room in this bed for that," Patrick said warily, glancing at the blankets. "I think your ego might be taking up all of the space."

Brian grinned and ground down against him, and the gasp that Patrick let out cut off any further mocking, which Brian was all too pleased about. This time it was Patrick who pulled him in, and Brian let him, pressing himself down over Patrick's body and losing himself in the heat and the taste of him, and the feeling of their legs tangling together like they fit.  
____________

"So," Patrick said as they lay in his bed together one night, and Brian rolled over, made a low questioning noise into the pillow.

"So?" he finally prompted, when Patrick didn't say anything else.

"So, Bob," Patrick said, and left it hanging there between them.

"Didn't we do this?" Brian asked, yawning. Patrick shifted beside him, and sat up, looking down at Brian seriously.

"It's just," Patrick said, "you'd tell me if I was…in the way of anything, right?"

Brian frowned. "It's not like that," he said.

"I don't know what it's like, because you've never told me," Patrick said. "I'm just saying…I like – " he waved a hand at Brian, "this. Whatever it is, I like how things are, and I get that you and Bob have…a thing. Or have had a thing, or, you know. There's -"

"History," Brian filled in.

"History, yeah," Patrick replied. "And we have it too, me and him, and it's…" he shrugged. "Just, you'd say something, right?"

"If what?" Brian asked, pushing himself up on his arms.

"If you didn't want to – " Patrick gestured between them. "Do this."

"Because of Bob?" Brian asked.

"Because of anything."

Brian looked at him seriously for a moment, the way Patrick chewed at the inside of his lip and wouldn't meet Brian's eyes. He sat up and reached to touch Patrick's face, tipping his head so they had to look at each other. "I'd say something," he promised. He leaned in to kiss Patrick lightly, then pulled back. "You too?"

Patrick blinked. "I'm not – " he started to say, but Brian shook his head.

"I'm saying, for whatever reason, you too?"

Patrick was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah," he agreed.

Brian nodded back. "I like this too," he said. "For the record. Whatever we're doing."

"I think the word is fucking," Patrick informed him, the corner of his mouth twisting up a little.

Brian laughed and rocked his shoulder against Patrick's. "Not right now, we're not."

Patrick looked him up and down. "Clearly," he said, "we should change that." He reached for Brian, finally smiling, and Brian pushed him back against the pillows, settling down over him.

"Why," Brian said, leaning in to press their mouths together, then pulling back, "would I ever not want to do this?"

Patrick shrugged. "Got me," he said.

" _Yeah_ , I do," Brian said, grinding his hips down against Patrick's. Patrick rolled his eyes, and was still laughing as Brian leaned down to claim his mouth again.  
______________

"I have...kind of a thing to ask," Bob said, leaning in the doorway to the living room.

Brian glanced up, his eyes fuzzy from the computer screen, and he blinked to clear them. "How was the gig?" he asked.

Bob shrugged. "Band sucked, crowd was great," he said.

"You have a thing?" Brian prompted.

"A little, yeah. I have...you know the bar I'm working at, right?"

"Sure, yeah, a bunch of my guys have played it over the years. Good little place."

"Our guys for tomorrow cancelled," Bob said. "It was going to be kind of a big thing, and they just...dropped. And Gino's looking for someone to come in and play a last minute thing, but...it's a big weekend, you know, there's shows going around everywhere, and..." Bob paused, sounding a little out of breath.

"And?" Brian prompted.

"And I said that I maybe knew a great little band that was looking to play before heading out on the road."

Brian stared at him.

"You volunteered my band to play your bar."

"Yes?"

"Tomorrow night?"

"Maybe?"

"Did you talk to _them_ about this?"

Bob looked at him steadily. "I'm talking to _you_ ," he said. "Look, it's one show, they can go out there, hammer out a few songs, I can get a jump start on knowing what the challenges might be working with their sound, and they can walk home with a few more bucks in their pockets and a few more people knowing their names. And I'd be doing Gino one hell of a favor." For a guy who looked vaguely intimidating most of the time, Bob had one hell of a persuasive pleading face.

Brian sighed. "Give me a few minutes," he said, picking up his phone and retreating to his room.

Bob glanced up from the magazine he was studiously flipping through when Brian emerged. He looked so cautiously hopeful that Brian left him hanging there for a few moments before finally breaking and telling him, "You've got a deal."

Bob beamed. "Dude," he said, getting up from the couch and coming over to grip Brian's arm. "Dude, this is great. Are they pumped? They should be pumped. They've got a _show_."

Brian put on his unimpressed face. "Who says pumped? They play shows, Bob. That's how they _got_ here."

"Sure, yeah, but those are shows in Jersey," Bob said, waving a hand. Brian opened his mouth to get defensive, but Bob went on. "I'm saying," he cut Brian off, "this is their first show not really around where they're from, isn't it? And Gino's isn't some smalltime venue, either. People _go_ there."

Brian chuckled. "Are you priding yourself at getting my band their first L.A. gig?" he asked.

"Damn right, I am," Bob agreed. "You better watch out, or I'll have your job next."

"In your dreams, Bryar," Brian said. "You've never even met two thirds of the band."

"But oh _man_ do they love me tonight," Bob finished, grinning.

"You're going to be insufferable, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"For how long, exactly?"

"Indefinitely." Bob beamed. He waved towards his room. "Long night at work," he said. "Heading to bed. See you and your kids tomorrow night." He whistled his way down the hallway, and Brian had to laugh as he recognized the song as one of his band's.  
______________

"So you'll never guess what I'm doing," Brian said into his phone. He leaned against the brick wall outside the bar, breathing in the stabilizingly familiar smell of cigarettes.

"You're, I don't know," Patrick said into his ear. "Swimming with sharks."

"Yes, because my phone would be completely functional in the ocean," Brian said. "I'm at Bob's bar."

"Mmhm?" Patrick said distractedly.

"I'm waiting for a show to start."

"Bob got you to leave your place? Good for him, I'll have to figure out his secrets one of these days."

"I leave," Brian objected.

"Yeah, to come to my place. So you're at his bar," Patrick prompted.

"And - " Brian glanced up as Devon joined him. "Here, you tell him," Brian said, holding the phone out and mouthing _Patrick_.

"We've got a _show_ , dude!" Devon complied.

Brian watched the cars drive by, smoking and listening to Devon being enthusiastic at Patrick over the phone for a while, then wiggled his fingers at the phone until Devon handed it back over.

"Is this part of your grand scheme?" Patrick asked. "Because I've gotta say, I'm impressed."

"It's Bob's doing," Brian admitted.

Patrick was quiet for a long moment, then said, "Really," like he was thinking hard about something.

"What does _that_ tone mean?" Brian asked.

"Nothing, there was no tone," Patrick said. "Let me know how they do."

"That's why I'm calling," Brian said. "You should come down and see them."

Patrick didn't answer for a while, then finally said, "What?"

Brian sighed. "Do I have to go over the whole 'my band, your band' thing again, or can we skip right to the part where you admit that you're invested enough in their little faces to come down here and watch them play?"

"Oh," Patrick sounded surprised.

"So, you're coming, right?"

"I'm...in Vegas."

"You're what?"

"Brendon's working on this huge project, and he wanted a hand with some stuff, and so I came out for the weekend."

"Huh." It had been a while since anything had happened relating to the band that Brian hadn't gotten Patrick involved in at all, and it felt somehow wrong to be doing something like this without him. He thought about the tour for a moment, about weeks on the road with the band, just him and Bob, and it made him feel vaguely uneasy.

"You still there?" Patrick asked.

"Yeah, man, I'm here," Brian said. "It's too bad you're out of town. I'll see you when you get back?"

"Yeah, I'll stop over. You and Bob can tell me all about the show. Tell the kids to break a leg. Legs."

"I'd rather not, they might take you literally," Brian said, and Patrick was laughing as he hung up.

"Hey, Brian?" Eric asked, poking his head out of the door. "I think Devon might be freaking out a little."

"When _isn't_ Devon freaking out a little?" Brian asked, but he stuck his phone back in his pocket and grabbed the door, following Eric inside.  
_______________

Brian stood backstage and felt something tightening in him as he watched his band play.

Devon sang like he never had back in Jersey, his overexuberance channeled into focused intensity in this way that Patrick had managed to teach him. His guitar and Eric's bass were no longer in some kind of drawn out duel as they played, they worked _together_ , mixing seamlessly in with Amy's drums, creating something that had the crowd in the bar as captivated as Brian. He'd seen this show a thousand times, heard the songs a million, and yet this time, the first time they put into practice everything they had learned from Patrick in front of an audience, it felt like the first time he was ever seeing them, the first time he ever heard the songs, even as he mouthed the words along with them, his eyes on the crowd, gauging their reactions.

Eric was the first one offstage at the end of the set, and he barreled right into Brian, wrapping a careless arm around him, his bass pressed between their bodies, and Brian let out a breathless laugh as Devon came up and wrapped himself around Eric from behind, ruffling Brian's hair, making it stick up on end. Amy hovered by their sides for about a second and a half before launching at them, sending the whole tangle tipping back against the wall.

Brian couldn't breathe from laughing so hard as he disentangled himself from them, and then Devon was reaching for his pocket, saying, "Can I call Patrick back?"

Brian almost told him that Patrick was busy, but at the expectant looks on their faces, he nodded, and headed off to claim them a table at the bar before everyone who had gathered at the stage migrated back.

It was later, when they were already a few pitchers into things and Eric and Amy were trying to buy Brian drinks, that Bob finally came over and leaned heavily against the back of Brian's barstool. "You guys are like kittens," he observed. "We've got to bop you on the nose to get you to stop being annoying." He reached out and flicked Amy in the face, then hesitated only a moment before doing the same to Eric. "He doesn't want any. Enjoy it yourselves. You earned it." He clapped Brian on the back. "That was one hell of a set."

"Bob!" Devon declared. "I'm not entirely convinced that you weren't doing some kind of secret sound guy magic back there. Did Patrick bribe you?"

"He did," Bob agreed, "but don't tell your manager. He frowns on that sort of thing."

Brian tipped back so he could feel Bob behind him, and Bob leaned over him to take his water glass and steal a gulp. "I'm done," he said, "but I've got to go pack up my stuff. Mind waiting?"

"I'll get these unruly children into a cab, and come back to collect you," Brian said.

Bob grinned. "Nice to meet you guys," he said to Devon and Eric. "Looking forward to the tour."

"Us too, oh Bob of the magical skills," Devon said, and saluted.

"Come on," Brian said, and herded them all out front, stuffing Eric's bass into his hands and carrying Devon's guitar.

"You don't have to put us in a cab, you know," Amy told him petulantly. "We're all perfectly capable adults."

"And every other night of your lives that you go out and get drunk, you're welcome to do that," Brian said. "Tonight, you have played the show of your career, and I am seeing to it that my valuable assets get home safely." She eyed him, so he continued, "I'm just protecting my investment."

A cab pulled up, and he gave the cabbie Eric's address. "From there you're on your own," he told them, knowing that Eric was the one with a guest room and a fold-out couch. "Nice work tonight." He shut the door behind them, and watched until it was out of sight, then headed back into the bar.

Bob was in his booth, packing up the last of his things. "I've just got to leave Gino a note to let him know where to send the check," he said.

"He can just give it to you," Brian told him, and Bob shook his head.

"You're going to get yourself in trouble, trusting people like that."

Brian laughed. " _You're_ telling _me_ this? It's like looking into a time machine from the year you joined My Chem."

Bob smiled a little wistfully. "I wasn't an _idiot_ , you know. I just wasn't used to being someone people _knew_."

"You miss that?" Brian asked him.

"Not ever," Bob said with feeling.

Brian followed him back to the office, and watched as Bob found a sticky note and left Brian's information on it. "Thanks," he said as Bob straightened up. "For tonight. It was...I didn't realize how much they needed it. How much we _all_ did."

"It's going to be an amazing tour, Schechter," Bob told him.

"It is, yeah," Brian agreed. "But that's not what I mean. I mean, not entirely. It's...they're a _band_ now, Bob, in this way they never were before - "

"Before Patrick," Bob filled in.

"Mostly, yeah. But just...they've grown. Musically, and as people, and as a _group_ , and...I sound like a Behind the Music right now, don't I?"

"A little, yeah."

"I guess, just, what I mean is..." Brian took in a breath, then leaned forward, giving Bob time to pull away. He didn't. "Thanks," Brian said again, and pressed his lips to Bob's.

It was so different from that time in the kitchen, from _every_ time they'd ever done it before. There was no frustration behind it, no desperation, just the quiet heat of the two of them, enclosed in such a tiny space, too close, too invested in the events of the night. It was too much eventually, and Brian had to just pull back for a moment and breathe in steadily. Bob shifted, turning them so he was near the door and could kick it shut. When Brian found his mouth again, it was with a new determination, a new drive, and Bob's hands closed around his hips with the same force.

"Yes," Brian said as Bob hesitated a moment, "please, yes," and Bob let out a low noise, pulling Brian against him. They pressed together there against the door, Brian rocking into Bob until they were both hard and panting. It was a change from what Brian had gotten used to with Patrick – a little more force behind the motions, a different background between them, a rough familiarity to the feeling of Bob's body pressed against his in a way it hadn't been in years. When Brian dropped to his knees, Bob let out a choked sound, following Brian's face with his hand, touching his jaw lightly.

"You don't - " he said, "I mean, this isn't how you say thanks _all_ the time, is it?"

"Just on Saturdays," Brian assured him, smiling up the length of his body, and Bob's laugh was cut off as Brian undid his pants and slipped his hand inside, cupping him.

"Oh fuck," Bob said, his head falling back against the door with a dull thunk. "That's. I might not...I mean, I haven't really..." he stopped struggling for words and just shrugged kind of helplessly.

"I _know_ ," Brian said. "I live with you, remember?" He teased his fingers over Bob's cock, enjoying the way his breath went ragged at the touch. "Just," he said, tugging Bob's pants and boxers down a little, "I'm going to..." and he leaned in to take him in his mouth.

Bob's fingers stretched out over Brian's face, like he wanted to grab him, but was holding himself back. His fingers went straight and stiff against Brian's cheek instead, pressing there until Brian pulled off long enough to say, "You can," before sucking him back in. Bob still hesitated a moment, but when Brian swirled his tongue over the head of his cock, Bob's fingers curled against the back of his neck, hanging on, bracing Brian's head as he tilted his hips forward just a little.

Brian swallowed around him and heard a sharp intake of breath, so he did it again, then again, and felt the moment Bob's control broke by the tightening of his fingers against his skin. Brian leaned in and sucked down more, and Bob took it as a cue to let his hips go, move them towards the feeling of Brian's mouth. Brian lost all sense of everything as he knelt there, sinking into the feeling of Bob's cock thick and heavy in his mouth, the way he could barely gasp in enough air between thrusts, the grip of Bob's fingers against his head, the ache of every part of him - his jaw, his knees, his neck - and how none of it _mattered_ , because Bob was there, pushing into him, gasping brokenly, and coming down his throat hot and sudden.

Brian pulled back and coughed, and Bob looked momentarily alarmed before Brian waved him off and caught his breath. He knelt there, one hand wrapped around the back of Bob's leg for support, and breathed slowly until he felt Bob's fingers in his hair.

"Hey," Bob said quietly, almost fondly, and it twisted something in Brian to see him like this again after so long - wrecked and elated and - god, he had _missed_ this. "Hey, get up here."

Brian almost made some kind of comment, but then Bob gave a tug at his hair - not hard, just enough to startle him a little, and make blood rush down from his head. "Okay, _yeah_ ," he agreed, and clambered to his feet. Bob got his pants undone with one hand, the other dropping from his hair and sliding around to Brian's back to pull him close. Brian dropped his head against Bob's shoulder and watched Bob's hand work its way into his pants and close around his cock. "Oh _fuck_ ," he said.

"Not right now," Bob told him, and Brian choked out a laugh.

"No," he agreed. "This is...this is good."

Bob tilted his head to rest against Brian's. "Yeah," he agreed, close to Brian's ear. "It really is."

His hand was wide and warm and knew exactly what Brian wanted, and it was almost no time at all before he was bracing a hand against the wall behind Bob and fucking up into his grip. "I'm - " he managed, just before he collapsed against Bob, coming all over his hand and his shirt. "Ah, fuck." Bob laughed, then wiped his hand on Brian's shirt in retribution. Brian ducked away, making a protesting noise.

"That's not cool," he said.

"It's not cool to get off all over a guy's shirt either," Bob told him.

"Well, I mean, if you'd returned the favor," Brian said, waving at Bob's dick, "things might have turned out differently."

"If I'd returned the favor," Bob said, "I'd have spat on your shoes."

"That's because you're a classy guy, Bryar." Brian zipped his jacket up over his shirt.

"Yeah, getting blowjobs at my place of business. That's the mark of class, right there." Bob grabbed his hoodie from the back of Gino's chair and pulled it on over his head.

"Wait, that's not what places of business are for?" Brian asked.

"Just because you've been doing your producer and you've gotten laid on every tour you've ever gone on doesn't mean that everyone has the kind of job that encourages that sort of thing," Bob reminded him.

"Not _every_ tour," Brian objected.

"Really? Name one."

"That first one with The Used," Brian said without hesitation. "The one where we met."

"Lies," Bob said.

"Truth," Brian insisted.

"No, you were doing...what's his name? The guy with the earrings and the blue hair."

"I never did a guy with blue hair," Brian said, affronted. "I mean, guys in clubs, maybe, but not for a whole tour."

"No, really, he had that leather jacket, and the..." Bob sighed. "Anything I say is going to describe pretty much every guy on every tour we've ever done, isn't it?"

"Probably, yeah."

"Well, just trust me, then. You were getting laid. I was in the bunk under you, dude, I _know_."

"You were?" Brian tilted his head, then blinked. "Oh. You _were_." He had a brief flash of memory. "Oh," he said. "Oh, _that_ guy."

Bob laughed. "That guy, yeah."

"Okay, rewind, how did we get on this again?" Brian asked. "And how can I back up my life so I _never_ have to remember that? Ugh, my taste was...not good."

"I think we were talking about how you're kind of a tramp," Bob said.

"A _tramp_? What is this, 1958? You're such a fucking grandpa."

"And you just blew me," Bob said, slinging an arm around Brian's shoulder and steering him towards the door.

"Remind me not to do that anymore."

"Yeah, sure, I'll get right on that."  
_______________

Brian was halfway through an argument with Bob about the correct ingredients for an omelet when the doorbell rang, and he took a moment to throw a napkin across the room at him before heading into the hallway and opening the door. Patrick was standing there, shifting from foot to foot.

"Hi?" Brian said, raising an eyebrow. Patrick shifted on his feet, and peered around him into the apartment.

"You guys busy?" he asked.

"Just finished dinner," Brian said. He stepped back and waved Patrick in. "Want to come in?"

"Yeah," Patrick said, "but I'm not here for you."

Something about the way he said it made him look at Patrick seriously. He was a little pink, under his hat, and his eyes shifted back towards the living room like he was expecting Bob to appear on cue. Brian looked back, half believing that he would. He didn't.

"Come on in," Brian said, and held the door as Patrick went by him.

"I just," Patrick said, his voice low, "I ran into Bob this afternoon."

"He didn't mention," Brian said.

"No," Patrick agreed. "I didn't figure he would. We had coffee. Talked about some stuff."

"Stuff," Brian repeated.

"Stuff, yeah." Patrick looked at him significantly. "History."

"Oh," Brian said, and glanced over his shoulder towards the living room. " _Oh_." He gestured past Patrick, out the door. "Did you want me to…?"

"No," Patrick said. "I want you to stay. It's just, right now, I have to...there's some stuff. I have to do."

"Okay," Brian agreed, nodding.

"I mean, " Patrick began, and Brian cut him off.

"I know," he said. He nodded back towards the living room. "Go ahead."

Patrick blinked. "You know?"

"It's not like I've never been around you guys together," Brian said, smiling a little lopsidedly.

"I really..." Patrick began, then shrugged and leaned in to kiss Brian quickly.

"Yeah," Brian said when Patrick pulled back. "Same here." He reached out and tugged on the brim of Patrick's hat, and Patrick ducked, smiling a little.

"You're..." Patrick prompted, and Brian started wondering if he had forgotten how to end his sentences.

"We're good," Brian said, and gave him a push towards the living room. He headed for the kitchen, and turned on the water to drown out the sounds of quiet conversation coming through the hallway. He did the dishes, just for something to keep his hands occupied, and he hummed to himself as he did. He was soapy up to the elbows when he heard a thump from the living room, and shut the water off, glancing at the wall and waiting for Patrick's giggly "Nothing broke!" before he turned it back on.

He heard one set of footsteps head down the hall for Bob's room, and didn't turn when the second set paused in the door to the kitchen.

"Schechter?" Bob asked uncertainly, and Brian dried off his hands before he turned around. Bob was leaning against the doorframe, his hair more rumpled than it had been when Brian left him, looking kind of stunned.

"He's not here for me," Brian told him, repeating Patrick's words, and Bob frowned, then nodded seriously.

Bob had the decency not to pretend to be confused by that. "You're good?" he asked.

Brian nodded. "Yeah," he said. "We're all good."

"Brian," Bob said quietly, stepping forward, but Brian waved him off.

"I'll still be here."

Bob hesitated, then nodded. "You're sure?" he asked.

Brian took a deep breath, thinking about the two of them, together, Patrick's mouth and Bob's hands, and their skin and sounds and movements. It took most of his effort to hold himself back, not reach for Bob right then and there, let them work out whatever they needed to without him. "I'm sure," he said, meaning it more than he even realized until the words were out of his mouth.

Brian watched him go, and turned back to doing the dishes, sinking his hands into the water and only flinching a little as the heat turned them red and sore.

Once he'd done the dishes and sorted through the mail on the table and caught up on the pile of magazines on the counter, he sat on the couch, pulled his computer into his lap, and very diligently didn't think about what was going on behind Bob's door. He couldn't hear anything through the walls, but he thought about the quiet sounds Patrick would make as he got sucked off, the way Bob's hands curled tightly around whatever he could find as he got closer to the edge, the fact that they'd lived together and probably done this a hundred times before, but that so much had changed for them both in the years in between. They were probably learning new things about each other with each second.

He wondered if Bob would notice anything that Patrick had picked up from him.

That was the thought that made him look up from his computer and stare blankly at the wall for a while, because _Jesus_. The thought of Patrick working his way down Bob's body, looking up, and something suddenly clicking for both of them as they realized that they'd both learned that from the same person. He shivered and looked anxiously towards Bob's door. It stayed firmly shut. He closed his eyes and thought about their skin pressed against each other, pale and freckled and moving together under the sheets, and he hesitated for about a minute and a half before sliding his hand into his pants. He drew it out, teasing himself, imagining them doing the same behind the door, stretching out the time, trying to make up for all the years since the last time they'd done this, bringing each other to the edge so many times they stopped being able to keep track of _anything_ , and then pausing for just a little longer, wanting to make each other have to ask for it. It was exactly the kind of thing Patrick would do, and Brian imagined him on his knees as Bob writhed helplessly on the bed in front of him, Patrick holding him still with hands against his thighs, teasing him with his mouth until Bob cursed at him and _begged_ for it.

Brian came with his head tipped back against the couch, eyes closed, and when he could move enough again to look up, he half expected one of them to be standing there watching him. But his life wasn't _actually_ straight out of porn, as much as it kind of felt like it was sometimes these days, and so instead what he found was an empty room, and a door that stayed closed.

He wandered back to his room shortly after that to change into boxers and a t-shirt, and not at all to try to hear what was happening on the other side of the wall. He heard nothing, and returned to the living room, turned on the video game console, and lost himself in trying to solve a virtual murder for the next indeterminable stretch of time.

Eventually, what might have been hours later, he heard Bob's door creak open, and Bob padded across the floor to peek around the doorframe. "Oh, good," he said. "You're still up." He eyed the game. "How far are you?"

"I just got past the...enchanter? Guy? Thing?" Brian said, shrugging, and Bob nodded.

"It gets good after that," he said. He reached out and took the controller from Brian's hands. "You can see how in the morning."

Brian gave him a sidelong glance. "Do you have other things planned for tonight?"

"I'm a little fried to do much planning at the moment," Bob admitted, "or much of anything else, come to that. But there's a guy in the other room who wants to see you."

"Already got you following his orders, huh?" Brian shook his head.

"As opposed to you, who he had to win over with his producing skills? Yeah, I'm the easy one in the room. Also, it's not like any of this is exactly new to us, you know?"

"I know." Brian sobered. "I just mean...you don't mind? Right now?"

"I mind you all the time, Schechter," Bob said. "You're a pain in my ass just like you've been since the day we met. But with this? No. I've got no objections, other than that my feet are freezing, and I'm kind of looking forward to getting them under some covers. And maybe warming them on Patrick's legs, just to piss him off. Come on, you can hold him still for me, right?"

"I can _hear_ you, you know," Patrick called through the open door, and Bob and Brian both laughed. Bob offered Brian a hand, and he eyed it for a second before taking it and pulling himself to his feet. He let Bob steer him towards the bedroom, and he paused in the doorway to wait for his eyes to adjust. Patrick was sitting up in bed, wearing an undershirt, the light of his Blackberry reflecting in his glasses until he set them both aside onto the bedside table.

"Hey," he said quietly, almost shyly, and he reached for Brian in this way that had him climbing onto the bed immediately, fitting himself against Patrick, taking his mouth with his own. They kissed like that for a long while, until Brian felt the bed dip, Bob settling in behind them.

"Don't mind me," he said, leaning back against the pillows. "Just getting a better view. Also a blanket." He tucked his feet under the covers, then looked at them expectantly. "Go on," he prompted.

Patrick looked over at him, then back at Brian. "It's like he thinks we're going to do what he tells us," he said.

"Fascinating," Brian replied. "Possibly he has never met either of us before."

"Unlikely," Patrick said. "He looks familiar."

"Hm. Maybe he is just misinformed about how well we take direction."

"Oh, I don't know," Bob said. "I've known you both to be pretty damn good at taking direction, under the right circumstances."

"You mean under _you_ ," Patrick said, and Brian bit off a laugh.

Bob considered this. "Point," he conceded.

"How about this instead?" Brian asked, and leaned in to kiss Bob. He heard Patrick draw in a quick breath beside them, and he almost paused to look at him, but then Patrick's hand was landing on his thigh, gripping it as he watched. Bob's mouth was sure and familiar against his, and his hand reached up to brace against Brian's side, holding him steady as he leaned over. They were all breathing heavily when Brian pulled back, even Patrick, and when Brian looked at him, Patrick was looking disappointed.

"It's too bad you couldn't wait," he said. "I was looking forward to getting you in here."

"Whereby here, do you mean _you_?" Brian asked, and grinned at making Patrick blush.

"Hey, just because you can't keep it in your pants," Patrick said.

"There's always tomorrow," Bob reminded them, sliding down the bed and stretching out under the covers, resting his head on the pillow.

"And you tell _me_ I'm eighty years old," Brian said to Patrick. "Look at this guy."

"This guy just got really well fucked," Bob said, grinning at him. He paused. "Well, I mean, to use that phrase in the loosest terms possible."

"By which you mean you were the one doing the fucking?" Brian asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Patrick said, joining Bob in being horizontal.

"Yes, actually," Brian told them. "I would."

"Maybe when you're older," Bob said, then tugged at the back of Brian's shirt. "You joining us, or what, man?"

Brian hadn't felt tired until right this minute, but with the warm feeling of Bob stretched out on one side of him, and Patrick's expectant gaze meeting him from the other, he suddenly wanted nothing more than to lie down between them, close his eyes, and know nothing until the morning. "Yeah," he said, and curled his legs up to get them under the blankets. "Yeah, I am."

He fell asleep there between them, Bob snoring quietly by his neck, and Patrick tossing and turning, still getting comfortable as Brian drifted off to sleep.  
______________

"So," Brian said, settling down next to Patrick on the couch. Patrick glanced up from his magazine.

"So?" he prompted. "Going to explain why you got me over here and plied me with dinner?" He eyed Brian. "Do you have some sort of weird kink you're going to spring on me, or something?"

"Well, now that you mention it..." Brian said, and grinned. Patrick made a face at him, and Brian sobered. "Okay, here's the thing. It's...good news? Or, it's really _really_ not, except I think I can make it into good news. Because I'm a manager, and that's what I do."

"Okay?" Patrick said cautiously.

Brian couldn't keep the grin off his face as he announced, "Jack quit."

"Jack..." Patrick repeated, then his eyes got wide. "Jack from the _band_ ," he said. "Jack, the guy you hate, who has been making this tour miserable before it even starts."

"That's the guy," Brian agreed. "Jack quit, and the band imploded."

" _Brian_." Patrick looked utterly conflicted. "That's...not good news at _all_. I mean, I guess it is for you, because you don't have to deal with him anymore, but the _tour_..." he trailed off, looking worried.

"The tour's going to be fine," Brian told him. "It's going to be fine, because I'm going to replace them. With someone else, who's going to be even better for the other guys to go on the road with."

Patrick beamed. "You got someone? That's great! Who is it?"

"Well, he's got a new solo album coming out soon," Brian hedged, "that he wants to promote."

"That's..." Patrick narrowed his eyes. " _Brian_."

"Just think about it, okay?"

"I'm thinking about it. I'm thinking about the fact that I don't even know if my album is _done_. And the fact that I haven't toured since my _first_ disc came out. People probably don't even know who I _am_ anymore."

"And now think about the fact that the alternative is you staying here, while Bob and I are out on the road all the time," Brian said.

"I have a _job_ here," Patrick reminded him.

"A job that you don't usually need to be physically here to get done," Brian reminded him. "You do most of your work from home. You can do it on the road."

"Brian, this is - "

"Brilliant? A stroke of genius?"

"A stroke of _something_ ," Patrick agreed.

Brian grinned and leaned back against the couch cushions. "You're going to do it," he decided.

"What makes you think that?"

"Because if I can't convince you, I'm going to get Bob to. He's very convincing."

"That's one word for it," Patrick agreed, but he was smiling back. "Brian Schechter, you are a crazy person."

"Yeah," Brian agreed. "But I am _really_ good at it." He leaned forward and called towards Bob's room. "Bob! Get in here and be persuasive."

"Who am I persuading, and why?" Bob asked when he appeared in the doorway.

"You're persuading me to go on tour with you?" Patrick offered, tilting his head.

"Oh!" Bob's face lit up. "I am, yes." He settled onto the couch beside them. "I think Brian has lists about why this would be a good idea. Also diagrams. I can find them for you, if you want. I know you like those."

Brian frowned at him. "I do not have diagrams," he said.

"Lies," Bob said in an undertone to Patrick, and Brian grinned at them both, leaning back against the couch and watching as Bob's expression turned serious and he started listing off exactly why he'd suggested Patrick go on tour with them in the first place.  
______________

The night before they left on tour, Patrick showed up at their door looking determined. "I have a plan," he told them, and pushed past Brian into the apartment, grinning at Bob over Brian's shoulder.

"I like this plan already," Bob decided.

"My plan is this," Patrick said. "We're leaving for tour tomorrow. We're leaving, and not _one_ of us is very good at being sneaky."

"That's a lie," Brian objected. "I'm great at being sneaky."

"And I'm a drummer," Bob reminded him. "So really, it's just you."

"Okay," Patrick conceded. "I am no good at being sneaky. And I am going to want to have a lot of sex on this tour. With you," Patrick qualified, and when Brian shifted uncomfortably, he glanced over at him. " _Both_ of you," he continued. "So, we're going to have to get a head start on that tonight. Because after right now, we're going to be living out of buses and stealing blowjobs in changing rooms."

"Not that any of us know anything about that," Bob said, exchanging a look with Brian.

"No, none of us have ever done that before," Patrick agreed, grinning. "Okay, we _have_ , but not with more than one guy at a time." He paused, and looked between them. "Or, at least, not that _I_ know of."

Brian shrugged. "Not consistently," he agreed. Bob stifled a laugh.

Patrick looked interested, but opted for steering Brian towards the bedroom instead of asking. Bob followed behind, smiling a little when Brian caught his eye in the hall mirror. Patrick got them to Brian's room, then paused, eyeing Bob and Brian.

"I thought you had a plan," Brian prompted.

"My plan basically consisted of getting you in here and having a lot of sex with you," Patrick admitted. "It's a great plan, but it's got its flaws."

"Does it?" Bob asked, leaning against the doorframe. "I don't see any."

"I think it's only lacking in details," Brian agreed, exchanging a look with Bob. "Luckily, I'm pretty good at those." He reached out and tugged at Patrick's shirt until he lifted his arms a little reluctantly to let him pull it off. When Brian reached to start working on his jeans, Patrick took a step back.

"Hey," he said, "why do I appear to be the only person getting naked here?"

"Because you're the one who's going to get his dick sucked," Brian said conversationally as he pulled Patrick's pants down.

"Oh." Patrick's voice went a little breathy. "That wasn't. I'm..." he stopped talking as Brian leaned in to kiss him, deep and dirty and with just an edge of teeth, and neither of them even noticed Bob moving behind them until Brian felt him pressing against the side of his leg as he knelt beside Patrick.

Brian pulled back to look down at him, but Bob was intent on Patrick, touching him through his boxers, making his breath hitch against Brian's face. "Not actually what I had in mind," Brian noted, "but I can't say I object."

Bob made an indistinct noise, then leaned in to mouth at Patrick through the fabric. Patrick drew in a quick breath and Brian pulled back a little, pushing off his own pants and sliding into the space behind Patrick, pressing his hands to his hips, holding him steady as Bob got Patrick naked the rest of the way.

When Bob leaned in to take Patrick in his mouth, Patrick sagged back against Brian, one of his hands dropping to Bob's head, curling lightly against the edges of his hair. "He likes it," Brian said low beside his ear. "You can, if you want." He reached around to wrap a hand around the base of Patrick's cock, Bob's mouth brushing up against it, hot and wet and messy. "Here," he said quietly, and watched as Patrick let his fingers twist into Bob's hair and pull him in hard, letting his hips jerk forward a little. Bob made a noise around him and Brian could feel the vibration of it against his fingers. He pressed against Patrick's back, rocking a little, fitting his cock against his ass, feeling the friction of Patrick's movements between them as he rocked forward into Bob's mouth, back against Brian's body.

He tilted his head back against Brian's as he came, letting out a helpless noise, and Bob swallowed around him, his mouth fitting to the curve of Brian's hand. When he pulled back, his lips were red and wet, his hair sticking up at all angles, and Brian couldn't help dragging him to his feet, kissing him hard and desperate and turning him towards the bed. "Yeah," Bob agreed, and then he was getting naked with no prompting at all as Patrick reached for Brian and they kissed there against the bedframe, Patrick leaning back against it, Brian pressing himself to Patrick's leg.

"I'm gonna - " Patrick said, and pulled away, going for the top drawer of the bedside table, and pulling out the lube.

Brian raised an eyebrow. "You're gonna..." he prompted, and Patrick looked at him, then at Bob, who was settling onto the bed on his hands and knees, glancing back at both of them. " _Jesus_ ," Brian hissed, and pressed a hand to himself as Patrick knelt onto the bed and slicked his fingers, reaching for Bob. Brian watched them, settling onto the bed beside them, the way that Bob tilted back against Patrick's touch, wanting more, the way that Patrick moved slow and lazy like a guy who had all the time in the world, and it wasn't until Bob was rocking against the bed, making these small low noises, that Patrick pulled back and looked at Brian.

"All yours," he said, and moved out from between Bob's legs, kneeling beside him.

"All mine," Brian replied, looking at them both, Bob stretched out there against the bed, Patrick eyeing them both, and he took Patrick's spot, smoothing a hand down Bob's body and leaning over him. Bob said his name, quiet and pleading, and Brian wasted almost no time before pushing into him, feeling him slick and hot around him, settling down against Bob's back and getting a rhythm going, losing himself in the way Bob shoved back against him, the feeling of Bob's hands tensing under his as he held them down to the bed. It was a while later when Bob let out a strangled noise, and Brian opened his eyes just long enough to see Patrick reaching under them. Bob's movements got more erratic, and Brian fucked him harder, breathless and desperate to come, holding back until Bob shuddered under him and pressed his face into the sheets, muffling the noises he made. Brian came with his face pressed to Bob's back, gasping out both of their names.

He rolled off of Bob as soon as he could move again, collapsing with his head against Patrick's thigh, and Patrick stretched over him, looking pleased with himself.

"Yes," Brian told him, "your plan was a rousing success, you can stop looking so smug now."

"Better get used to the smug look," Bob told him, propping his head on his hand. "He's probably going to be wearing it for the whole tour."

"Remind me again why I let you convince me to invite him along?" Brian asked.

"This," Bob reminded him succinctly, waving his hands at the bed.

"Oh," Brian agreed. "Right. This."

"Also I'm a damn good musician," Patrick pointed out.

"Modest, too," Brian said, and didn't even mind all that much when Patrick pulled his hair just a little too hard.  
_____________

"You're not supposed to be in here," Bob said as Brian slipped into the booth behind him.

"I'm not being distracting," Brian said in his own defense. "I'm being helpful." He held up a giant bottle of Gatorade. "Brought you a drink."

Bob looked at it suspiciously for a few moments before caving and saying, "All right, you're a lifesaver, Schechter," and taking the bottle from his fingers, cracking open the top and taking a huge gulp. Then he turned his suspicious look on Brian. "Don't you have a band to be babysitting?" he asked. "You should probably be making sure no one sets themselves on fire right before they go onstage."

"Not that anyone I manage would ever do _that_ ," Brian said. "But no. I've been banished. They want 'band time.' Whatever the hell _that_ means."

"It means they're sick of your face," Bob said, looking back at his controls and making some adjustments. Brian watched the stage getting set, Amy's kit put in order, the microphones tipped to Devon and Eric's heights.

"We get to _do_ this," he said aloud to Bob.

"Hm?" Bob asked distractedly, and Brian waved him off.

"Never mind," he said. "Do what you're doing."

Bob did, but when he finished, he leaned next to Brian and said, "Yeah. This is our lives. This is _still_ our lives."

"Again," Brian said a little wistfully.

"Always, I think," Bob said.

Brian laughed. "You're going to be eighty years old and still doing shows, aren't you?"

"Better believe it," Bob told him. "At that point, maybe I'll hire someone to carry my equipment, though."

" _Maybe_ ," Brian repeated. "You damn well _better_. Fuck, _I'll_ hire you someone to carry your things. Actually, hell, who runs this tour, anyway? I can go backstage right now and find you your very own roadie for the whole thing."

"You do, and I'm quitting," Bob said flatly, but he tipped to nudge Brian's arm with his own. "Patrick was pretty great at sound check," he said.

"Of course he was," Brian said defensively.

"I mean you made the right decision," Bob continued. "Bringing him along. He's good for the band, you know." He smiled a little. "He's good for _you_."

"Oh, right, and you get _nothing_ out of him being here," Brian said, nudging him back.

"I get to not do sound for your shitty headlining band," Bob said.

"Not my band anymore!" Brian reminded him gleefully.

"Not even _a_ band anymore," Bob agreed.

"Sometimes," Brian said, "things work out."

"Sometimes they do," Patrick agreed, slipping into the booth behind him.

"Are you kidding me?" Bob griped. "Is _anyone_ going to let me do my job in peace?"

"Not likely," Patrick told him.

"You better have come with an offering too," Bob said, pointing at Patrick. "Brian brought me Gatorade."

"Brian's not going to give you - " Patrick said, and then had the decency to whisper the rest in Bob's ear.

"Oh, I don't know," Bob said. "He has before."

Patrick's eyes went wide. " _Really_?" he asked. He looked Brian over speculatively. "Huh."

"What?" Brian demanded. They gave him matching smirks. He sighed. "Remind me why I like either of you."

"I'll remind you later," Patrick told him.

"With his _mouth_ ," Bob said under his breath.

"Shouldn't you be, I don't know, warming up or whatever it is that you singers do?" Bob asked him. "Instead of camping out in my place of business. Brian already told me that the band kicked him out of the dressing room. What's your excuse?"

"They kicked me out too," Patrick said, looking dejected.

Brian laughed. "You went in there?"

"For some unfathomable reason, I did," Patrick said. "Remind me not to make that mistake again."

"Not pretty?" Brian asked.

"Not even remotely."

"Were they," Brian said, "I mean, did they look...okay?"

Patrick glanced over at him, then laughed. "You're kind of going crazy being out of the room, aren't you?"

"A little, yes," Brian admitted. "I just. They told me not to be backstage. They told me to come out here until they went on. And I don't know why, and it is maybe freaking me out a little, okay?" he said, his voice rising by the end of it.

"Breathe," Patrick said, reaching out to touch his arm. "They did it because I told them to."

Brian blinked at him. "I'm sorry, _what_?"

"Well, it was Devon's idea that they wanted time alone as a band before they went on, which I thought was a good plan, and then...you should see them come out, Brian. You should be here - out _here_ , with the rest of the crowd, to see this."

"You're a _sap_ , Stump, you know that?" Brian said.

"Damn right, I know that," Patrick said. "Like you say, I spent one too many years with Pete."

"Guys, I think - " Bob began, and then the lights went down. The crowd went crazy.

"Is that..." Brian said, "Are they..."

"It's for your _band_ , Brian," Patrick said, and Brian wanted to correct him with _our band_ , but then their intro music started playing, and the lights went up, and he was blinded for a moment by the reflection off the backdrop, the drums, everything, and then there they were, coming out onto the stage, the three of them in this little knot that untangled, split off into different directions, and then Amy was counting off the beat, and Devon and Eric exchanged just one look before jumping and beginning to play in the air before landing, Devon's voice catching on the first word and then sailing right on, through the first verse, into the chorus, and when Brian looked at the crowd...

"They're _singing_ ," he said aloud, then grabbed Patrick's arm. "Patrick. Look. They know the _words_."

Patrick laughed. "It's like you've never done this before," he said. But he leaned against Brian briefly and supportively.

Brian watched Eric dance back to Amy and play at her over the kit, Devon's face splitting into an overwhelming grin as he launched into the guitar solo. "Only once," he said.

"What?" Patrick asked, leaning in to hear him.

"I've only done this once before," Brian said. "Like this."

"Yeah," Patrick said. His smile was almost as wide as Devon's. "I told you," he said.

"That I'd want to see this? Yeah, I know," said Brian. "You were right."

"No. I told you they were your guys."

"You did do that," Brian agreed.

"And I was right."

"You were right."

"Ssh," Bob said over his shoulder. "Our band is playing."

He turned back to his controls, but not before smiling at Brian, warm and intimate and promising. Brian smiled back, and leaned against Patrick. "Our band is playing," he repeated beside Patrick's ear. Patrick nodded, his hat catching against Brian's hair. They stood there in the darkness of the booth, the three of them together, and they lost themselves in the music of their band.


End file.
